


You're Mine

by kickoutthelogic



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BBC Sherlock - Freeform, F/M, POV Original Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-06 09:03:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 21
Words: 29,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/733912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kickoutthelogic/pseuds/kickoutthelogic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was bored. Too bored. The scene before him was tedious. He scanned the room once more, and his eyes rested on a lone woman. She looked elegant just sitting there, observing people while he observed her. She seemed smart, so it would be hard to get her go with him willingly. Moriarty/OC Not sure if I'm actually going to include John and Sherlock, we'll see how the story goes! xx</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Hi! Welcome to my story! Firstly, the point of view will be switching around depending on the content of the section (I'm still not sure which type will work the best), and if you have any ideas or recommendations they would be greatly appreciated!
> 
> On a more serious note, there is a brief mention of drug-facilitated sexual assault. I would like to let you know that in no way do I share the opinion of certain characters in this story. They are fictional, as are their thoughts. There is also a rape scene. I am sorry for having it, but with the way the story was developing I put it in. If reading about this will make you uncomfortable, or if it is a trigger please skip over the part with the asterix. (*)
> 
> Thank you for reading this! Have a good day! :) xx
> 
>  
> 
> ~~

Moriarty's POV

He was bored. Too bored. The scene before him was tedious. He was at a bar watching those who passed by. The men would regard him as a threat, and pull their female companions closer. The women would give him a wink and a smile with their caked faces, and pass him in their cheap heels. Style these days was going to shit. Seriously, could no one afford a nice Westwood?

The state of mind of the bar-goers was just as atrocious, if not more, as their clothing. Everyone was boring, dull, and they couldn't think for themselves. Always doing what was expected. All they thought of was themselves. Moriarty did enjoy thinking of himself, to tell the truth, but in the vast expanse of his mind that was only a single thread of the web he had created.

A girl that looked barely legal was being felt up by middle-aged businessman. A very inebriated man was trying to balance his glass on the top of his head, it didn't end well. He chuckled to himself. All these single-minded people, how boring it must be for them to live their lives.

He scanned the room once more, and his eyes rested on a lone woman. She was sitting in the back corner, far away from the warm bodies, and the heavy drum of the bass coming from the shit music that played over the speakers. She seemed out of place, shirt to high and skirt to long in comparison to the others. The lone table she sat at held a single electric candle that illuminated her sharp features. High cheekbones dotted with freckles, large green eyes, and a small flower of a mouth blooming just below her nose. Her brown hair was pulled into a loose bun; a singular strand had escaped from its confinement and dangled in front of her eyes. He had the urge to push it behind her ear. As he pictured her looking up at him with her doe eyes and smiling, a heat began to build in his stomach.

Not only did her attire set her apart from the crowd of unrefined bodies, but also her manner of carrying herself. Ankles crossed underneath chair. Hand resting on cheek, toying gently with an earring. She looked elegant just sitting there, observing people while he observed her.

*Suddenly a blond man approached her. He seemed like a guy that still thinks life is a college party. His steps were deliberate, and conscious. He wasn't drunk, but the look on his face made it seem like he was acting tipsy. Moriarty saw the woman's shoulders stiffen as she looked up and saw the tall blond looming over her. The man took a seat, even though she didn't ask him to sit down. He started looking intensely at her, giving her petty compliments that didn't give her justice. Moriarty knew what was going to happen next. Given her body language she would most likely decline the man's offer to go home with him. The man would lean in closer asking if she was sure. While her personal space was being invaded, he would slip zolpidem into her drink then leave, keeping a close watch on her until she started to sway in her seat then finally pass out. He would have his way with her, then leave her on some street corner, half dressed and shivering in the cold night. *

*Moriarty had seen this countless times before, never bothering to aid the damsels in distress because it would take too much effort on his part, and he never liked to dirty his hands. He never felt bad about not helping them, sure their lives might be ultimately ruined, and they'll jump every time they see a shadow on the street, but at least they would have a story to tell. Their lives wouldn't be as boring. *

Just as Moriarty predicted, the man slipped the zolpidem into her drink, and proceeded to stalk across the bar. The girl watched him as he walked away, her shoulders still tense. She looked down at her drink, stirring it with the small black straw. She then proceeded to empty the contents, along with the glass itself, into an odd looking potted plant beside the table. Smart girl, Moriarty thought to himself. He still wasn't sure if he would of intervened or not, but he was glad he didn't have to make that decision.

She pushed the stray locks of hair away from her face in a huff, then got up and made her way towards the door. She walked with her shoulders down, bum in, and neck elongated. Her body was a long and thin line, elegantly sweeping across the floor with no added hip or chest movement. He loved good posture, and a modest stride. The heat that had entered his body before had started to intensify. He began to imagine what she would look like without her flowing skirt, and collared top. What her hair would feel like spread out on the dark pillows that rested on his bed. What her breath would sound like against his neck, going out as shaky moans, and coming in as desperate gasps.

She seemed smart, so it would be hard to get her go with him willingly. As he stood up from the bar, he saw the blond man from earlier slink his way through the crowd and out the door. Seconds after the girl left. Maybe I could use this to my advantage, Moriarty thought.

Emily's POV

Stupid, stupid, stupid! What the fuck was I thinking? I cursed myself multiple times after exiting the crowded bar. Should've just stayed home and finished reading my book, or maybe I could've watched a movie, or baked a soufflé. Scratch the soufflé, that would have been a disaster. I continued to walk down the street, breathing in the fresh air.

My train of thought was interrupted as I heard the bar door open and slam shut. I turned around and saw him, the blond man. Matt I think his name was. Thankfully he hadn't seen me, yet. I rushed down the street trying to make as little sound as possible, which was excessively hard in Louboutins. I checked over my shoulder, and our eyes met. Shit. Shit. Shit.

"Hey girlie! Whereya goin'?" He called. He was definitely more tipsy than before.

"Come on baby," he continued, "I'm not going to hurt you! Lets just have some fun."

I turned back and ran as fast as I could. I heard him hot on my tail, spitting out profanities with each step.

I turned the corner and ran even farther down the block. As I reached the end of the road, I realized I made a grave mistake. Construction blocked of all pathways, except for the one I came from. There was no way I could retrace my steps fast enough to evade him. He was probably an American footballer, judging by his longs strides and broad shoulders. My breath began to quicken as I looked around for an escape. Quite a few of the buildings seem abandoned, or empty because it was around 12 at night. I wouldn't be able to go through the construction in the dark. My head whipped around as I heard his footsteps approaching, my instincts took over and I felt my feet carry me towards an alley. God, please let it route back around the block.

**It did go around, but there was a fence. 10 feet, with barbed wire curling around the top.

"Ooo, big mistake girlie. No there is no way you can escape." I heard him say, as I felt him walk nearer and nearer.

"You should have just accepted my initial offer. A quick shag then you would've been on your way, but now things are going to be a bit more difficult for you."

"People saw you and me at the bar. They'll know it was you." I said in a shaky voice. Get it together, stop being such a coward.

"Sure they saw you and me," he said, " but they probably won't remember you. Some girl that just sits alone, not even dressed to impress. No one will miss you." His voice sounded like acid, and it burned holes through my chest, through my thumping heart.

"HELP! HELP SOMEBODY!" I screamed, "PLEASE SOMEBODY!"

"Shut up frigid bitch. Nobody is going to hear you." He said, as he looked me in the eye. His set of dark blue eyes were turning black. He made his way forwards, as I turned around and tried my luck with the fence. I hadn't even gotten two feet up when I felt his hands on me. They wrapped around my waist and yanked me down, hard. I screamed and writhed around, trying to escape from his solid grasp. The weight of his body pressed the air out of my lungs. I tried to kick him, or hit him, anything to get away, but my efforts were futile. I was face down in the dirt of the alleyway, and I could feel the rocks scrapping my cheeks. One of his hands forced my head down, as the other one made it's way up my skirt. His nails scrapped my bum as he yanked down my underwear.

"Please don't do this. Please stop." I try to say, but my pleas were muffled by the ground.

"Has anyone ever told you ya need to loosen up a bit? I swear you are one of the most frigid bitches I've had." He hissed in my ear. His hot breath smelled of cheap cocktails, and cigarettes.

I wriggled around, trying to get away from his hands, but he only pushed my head down harder. I could hear his free hand undoing to belt of his pants.

"Baby you're going to like this. You probably haven't had anyone as good as me before. I'll be nice and get you loosened up a bit first."

Please stop, dear God make him stop. Why is this happening? I bit down on my lip, and felt tears burst out of my eyes. Why is this happening?

"I love you baby." He said. I could feel his mouth come down onto my neck and bite into it. His body shifted, and he pushed my skirt up so I was fully exposed. His weight pushed down on me, and the grip on my head tightened. He jerked my head back, and forced himself inside me.

I screamed.

I screamed again.

I screamed again and again and again.

Pain coursed through my veins and bursted my capillaries. All of the air had been sucked from my body. Black spots started to form inside my eyes, and I could feel myself drifting off to a foreign place in my mind. **

Then all of a sudden it stopped. The foreign touch I felt inside me disappeared, and the weight that pressed down on my body was lifted. I tried to move. GET UP! I shouted at myself, but none of my limbs were responding. I was frozen on the ground, helpless.

 

~~~


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm glad you're still with me! Again sorry about the last bit, I just had an idea in my head and felt like it had to be used. Thankfully in this chapter there is no sexual assault, but there is some violence. Jim saves the girl! Woot Woot! Feel free to send me a review or PM!
> 
> Thank you! xx
> 
> Em's Outfit www . polyvore dotcomslash cgi/set?id=76489219 (I love the cat shoes! Gahhh, I need them because of reasons)

Moriarty's POV

"Pity I didn't get here sooner" I thought as I pulled the atrocious man off of the girl's writhing body. I grabbed him by the shoulders, and flung him backwards into a rubbish bin. There was a satisfying clang as his head hit the thick metal. He looked up at me with fear in his eyes. His mouth opened and closed like that of a fish. Stupid boy.

"Don't try anything or I'll call the police." He said, shaking.

"The police? Oh dear my friend you must be delusional. There is no way the police can help you now!" I sang. The man winced a he tried to stand up, but I walked over and sunk my foot down onto his face. I felt bone crunching against the sole, and made a mental note to get a new pair of shoes. His muffled screams came out strangled as my foot made its way to his neck.

"You know the trachea is very crucial in the survival of a human being. It is the only way air can enter and exit your body, unless you make a new hole." I pressed my foot down harder on his neck, and the vibration of his larynx drummed through my leg.

He was squirming, and his eyes were full of fear and silent pleas, begging me to stop. I felt no remorse, infact it was quite exhilarating. His life was in my hands, or should I say my foot. I laughed out loud, and his eyes only grew wider.

"I would really love to stay and chat, but it's getting late and I have a thing in the morning. It was nice playing with you though, I usually don't get my hands, or feet, dirty, but this has been fun. If only we could do it again sometime." I lifted my foot up, and brought it down hard across his neck, collapsing his windpipe. His body flailed like a fish out of water, them eventually became still.

"Ta-ta." I sang out.

I turned around and saw her. She had managed to curl into a ball. Blood began to seep out of the scratches that lined her backside, and bruises had already started to form. She was shaking like a leaf in the wind. A fragile leaf, about to be blown away. I made my way over to her and noticed her heels. They had been cast off to the side, most likely during the struggle. I picked them up. Lady Lynch, 120 mm, patent leather. These were classics. The red soles were covered with dirt, and the leather had been scuffed, shame. Seeing as she was on the ground I would most likely have to kneel down. Thankfully I decided to change out of my Westwood into simple Armani trousers and a sweater. I placed my hand on her shoulder, fuck she was cold.

All of a sudden she jumped up and pushed me over, I grabbed her before she could go anywhere. Even though she tried to fight me off, her meager attempt felt like nothing at all. I wrapped my arms around her and brought her into my chest. The girl's body was lean; I could feel her shoulder blades poking into me as she wriggled around.

"Let me go." She whispered. It was barely audible, and the syllables were broken by sobs, and gasps for air.

"Shhhhhh." I breathed into her ear, "I've got you."

Emily's POV

Unlike her attacker, this man's breath felt good on her ear. The steady beat of his heart was soothing against her back, and his arms were strong around her body, protective. Her body went limp and she sank back against his sturdy figure.

"Shhhhhhh. You're safe." He whispered into her ear, his warm breath soothing her burning cheeks, and throbbing cranium.

They stayed like that for a while. He petted her hair with gentle strokes, she rested her cheek against his shoulder, eyes closed, breathing his sent in. Mint, aftershave, and scotch. His smell didn't invade her nostrils, but it rather came in and out as leisurely as her breath.

In

Out

In

Out

Emily could feel herself drift off into a dark and deep slumber.

—

BeepBeepBeepBeep

"Fuck." I reached over and slammed my fist down on the alarm, instantly regretting my sudden movement. Pain shot through my body, and I crumpled back down into my comforter, whimpering. What the hell had happened?

I forced myself out of bed, and hobbled towards the bathroom. One look in the mirror and I knew it hadn't been a dream. The whole right side of my face was scraped up, and my lip was swollen. I lifted my nightgown and saw bruises along my thighs and hips. I turned around and pulled down my underwear.

"Oh my god." I whispered.

I felt sick. I rushed to the toilet, and emptied my already barren stomach. I fell down to the tiled floor, and cried myself back to sleep.

After waking from a dark, dreamless state, I ran a bath.

Two hours of warmth, and vanilla suds later, I went out to the kitchen to get some water. I noticed a letter. The envelope was blank, but the letter itself had been written carefully in small concise characters.

"I hope you are feeling better. I doubt we will ever meet again, especially under such circumstances as last night. The man who attacked you has been taken car of, and you will never see or hear from him again. I took the time to replace your shoes, as it was quite a shame such a beautiful masterpiece was ruined. You will find them in your closet beside the rest of your footwear."

-JM

"P.S. I changed the ring tone on your phone. I hope you like it ;)"

JM? I wonder what his real name was. Also how the hell did he know this was my house, and how the hell did he get in. Oh god! I'm also in my nightdress, which means he undressed me. I start shaking, and need to grab the counter for support. His smell is still in my nose. Mint, aftershave, and scotch. Even though my body was tense, I yearned to smell it again.

I opened my closet and looked at my meager collection of footwear. It was mostly saddle shoes, simple flats, and my beloved Dr. Martens. The Louboutins had been a gift from my mum for my 18th birthday. She got them second hand from a girlfriend of hers. As I glanced down at their usual place I noticed two shoeboxes. After picking them up and placing them on my bed, I opened the boxes and inspected their contents. Inside box number 1 was an exact match to my late Louboutins. Box number two was a mystery though. I opened it with care, and peeked inside. The box held a pair of velvet and leather calfskin black heels. The toes had cat faces on them. Odd, I had never seen a shoe like this before. I checked the label.

"Holy shit! Charlotte Olympia, these cost a fortune. Not to mention how much the Louboutins cost on top of that." I exclaimed out loud. How much money does this guy have?

Ah ah ah ah staying alive staying alive

What the heck is that? The foreign sound was coming from my bag. After digging through it I came upon my phone. Good choice for a ringtone JM.

5 missed calls

4 unread text messages

I listened to the messages on my phone. One was a telemarketer, one was from my mum asking me if I wanted to visit her, two were just static which was weird. It was the last one that had surprised me the most.

It was from him.

I listened to it and remembered the feeling of his breath against my neck, and his arms around my body. He talked almost melodically with his Irish accent, every once in a while singing out some words.

"Emily, yes I know your name, please don't collapse over the thought of me riffling through your belongings and such. With simple research it is quite easy to find out a great deal of information. I fought long and hard with the decision over contacting you, and finally succumbed to my desire to hear your voice. Sadly you must be asleep, or to anxious to answer your phone, which is understandable. I wrote in my letter, which is placed on your countertop incase you haven't read it, that I probably wont see you again. It is for the best, you see, you with your inevitable post-traumatic stress and what not. I am sorry we had to meet under such circumstances, but it was a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I hope you enjoy the shoes. I picked the Charlotte Olympia ones especially for you. Toodaloo!"

He sang the last few words. It made me giggle. His voice sounded so enticing and magnetic that I found myself listening to the message over and over again. Taking every word like I was taking in air. I hadn't even seen his face the night before. I wondered what he looked like.

The text messages were from my boss, and my best friend, which surprisingly enough are one person. Charlotte runs an indie club in New Cross called Macabre. I was one of the regular performers. Alongside Char's boyfriend, Ross, we made a pretty good musical duo. She wanted to know if I could do three sets instead of my regular two. She also told me that some of Ross' mates were coming in to perform with them, so I need to come in early to rehearse at 3 pm. I checked the time.  
2:00  
Just enough time to get ready and head down to Macabre.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N. Moriarty's feels are starting to develop, and Emily decides to return to work (but is it to soon? *Queue dramatic music* ) Thank you so much for taking the time out of your day, I would really appreciate some feedback, or ideas on how you want the story to go. Still not sure if John and Sherlock will make an appearance, I'm just so indecisive it's driving me bonkers! Anyways, hope you enjoy!
> 
> Thanks!
> 
> DFTBA xx
> 
> Em's Outfit www. polyvore dotcomslash cgi/set?id=76492620

Moriarty's POV

It was only 2:00.

He had become bored again. After calling Emily he had locked his phone away in a timed safe, so even if he was tempted to call her he couldn't. His fingers were drumming across his dark rosewood desk.

"Fuck me!" He yelled.

He stood up and stalked across the expansive office. He opened his liquor cabinet and pulled out a crystal decanter. He filled a small glass with scotch, and proceeded to walk to his bedroom. He eased himself down on the navy comforter, huffed out a sigh, and let his thoughts run wild.

When he first saw her she seemed so exquisite, set apart from all the others. The smile that played on her lips as a man balanced drinks on his head, the look of pity when a couple passed by yelling at each other, and the look of slight fear when the blond man walked up to her. It would've gone different if he had stopped her before she left the bar. He could've seduced her, led her back to his house, and fucked her. A quick pleasurable shag that left no scars or bruises. He felt pity for her, for Emily. This was a new feeling for him. What about her was so different? The scotch he had been drinking started to warm his body. He thought about holding her shaking body in his arms. Her hair was soft as he stroked it, trying to calm her down. She soon fell asleep against his chest, and began to purr with each breath she took. She was like a small kitten, all curled up in a ball. That was why he had bought the Charlotte Olympias. The thought of his kitten wearing kittens on her feet made him laugh.

His kitten.

"What are you doing Jim?" He thought to himself. "You've got to stop thinking of her, you'll drive yourself mad. Well you're already quite mad, but you'll drive her mad as well."

Why was he beginning to care about her? He had never really cared about anyone to that extent. Although she smelt of fear while she was in his arms, he could smell the faint aroma of vanilla. It was sweet and he breathed it in large quantities as he had rested his head against her neck. Moriarty dropped the glass that was still half full onto the floor. The shattering sound of the crystal sounded like a far off noise to him. He rushed down to the kitchen and opened the fridge. He riffled through the disarray of milk, and varied takeaway leftovers. Finally he found what he was looking for. He unscrewed the cap of the brown bottle poured a small amount of its contents onto a clean hand towel and hurried back to his room. He layed down in the middle of his bed and put the towel to his face.

He breathed in

He breathed out

The sweet smell of vanilla entered his nostrils, and his body caught on fire. He felt the same heat in his stomach that he had felt the night before. Emily. Emily. Emily. He whispered out her name as if it were a prayer. The thoughts of her from the previous night began to float back into his mind. If he were to take her, he would take her slowly. Some girls were only worth a quick, hard, emotionless fuck. Emily was different. With the way her body moved and felt, he knew she would be fragile; she would have to be handled with care.

He would start by peeling of her clothes, slowly. Undoing each button with deliberate fingers, and conscious care. Her wide green eyes would gaze up at him in awe, and he would pull her in so he could feel her soft brown locks against his nose. He would kiss down her temple, then kiss her cheekbones. The mouth would be skipped, and he would go directly to her neck. She would gasp at the sudden contact, and moan softly as he bit gently into her skin. She would be weak in the knees, so he would have to lift her up and lay her down on the bed. Hair draped around her shoulders, softly purring as his hands explored her body unhurriedly. Paying close attention to her small chest. Her breasts would fit his hands perfectly, and she would moan as he cherished the quickening beat of her heart he could feel drumming out of her chest. The steady inhale and exhale of breath would quicken as his lips made their way down her body. He would stay at her navel, breathing warm air onto it causing her to squirm with anticipated pleasure. He would hook his finger around her panties and pull them down, keeping his eyes locked with hers. He would blow warm air on her centre, her back would arch and her purring will get louder and louder until he-

BeepBeepBeep

Moriarty was pulled out of his trance as he heard the timer of the safe go off. How long had it been? He checked his watch.

7:00

"Time well spent." He thought. He couldn't get the sound of her purring out of his head. He had to find her. Even if she didn't know he was watching, he had to see her.

Emily's POV

*4 hours earlier than the time at which Moriarty decided to find her. It is now 3:00*

I pulled up outside Macabre. I suddenly regretted the decision to come in tonight. I was shaking, and my breath had become ragged. Every time someone passed by the car all I could see was my attacker's face. Someone tapped on the car door, and I jumped out of my skin. I turned and noticed it was just Char.

"Whoa! Sorry darling, I hadn't realized you would be so jumpy. Another late night reading those books of yours?" Asked Char, her green eyes sparkling with amusement. The sight of her calmed me down. Char was familiar, she was like family, and I felt safe around her.

"Yeah, that's it." I reply half-heartedly, "So, where's the band."

Ross tapped out a rhythm on his guitar. His friend Sean was throwing his drum sticks in the air, and Sean's boyfriend Nick played with the various sound synthesizers programmed into his laptop. If I was feeling up to par, this would've been a great rehearsal, but every time we breaked for a couple bars I zoned out and missed my cues. The guys were keeping it together pretty well, and so was Char, but it was I that was really disappointed.

Pull it together! Just forget about what happened, you need to pull through and give a kick ass performance. Char is counting on you, the guys are counting on you.

My supportive inner voice wasn't doing too much to up my spirit. About halfway through Florence and the Machine's 'Bedroom Hymns' I was swaying on my feet, and before I knew it the ground came rushing up at my face.

When I came to, four concerned faces were peering down at me.

"Alright, give her some room. She needs to breathe." I heard Char say. Her voice was oddly muffled. It felt as if my head was filled with cotton

"Em, are you alright?" Asked Char.

"Umm, yeah, I think so." My voice was amplified in my head, and I winced at the intrusive sound. "I'm just feeling a bit tired that's all. My voice will be fine by show time."

"No Em, I'm not worried about your voice. When your fell your shirt lifted up. I saw the bruises. I just can't bear the thought of some asshole taking advantage of you." Her eyes started to brim with tears. "Were you—you know—" she stammered.

"Raped." I finished for her. The look in her eyes told me she was about to break down. As a girl Char's uncle had been unconsensually involved with her. She doesn't talk about it anymore, I never really understood how she felt until now.

"Well— you know what helped me when all that shit was going down. You can't let him get the better of you. You can't let any man tell you what you can or cannot do. You have control over you body. You are a strong independent woman and—"

"CHAR! I get the idea okay!" I said, slightly giggling. "I'm sorry, I know your trying to be serious but you sound like fucking Jaymie-Lee from Freaky Friday."

"Hey you know I love that movie! Lindsay Lohan is my idol." She says, grabbing me by the shoulders and hoisting me to my feet. "You sure you're ok for tonight?"

"I honestly don't know."

"Let's get you changed into something more comfortable, and grab a bite."

"Thanks Char." I said. I was saying it for everything she had done for me. She was an amazing person, and friend.

*5 hours later. It is now 8:00*

Our first performance was about to start. Tonight our set list had been split into three sections. One comprised solely of Florence and The Machine, one of Lana Del Rey, and one of Serena Ryder. Each set had 10 songs, so I could already tell it was going to be a bloody long night.

"Hey Em," called Ross, " You want to start with some Serena to get the crowd warmed up a bit?"

"You read my mind." I replied. Getting up on the cramped performance space had calmed me down. I could breath easy, and sway on my feet without worrying about falling down. Tonight's crowd was full of regulars, everyone loved a good show and I was going to make sure they got what they cam for. The air was full of a flurry of different aromas. With each breath I took a different scent materialized in my nostrils.

Old spice from a group of lads in front of the stage.

Marc Jacobs' Daisy from the girl a purple hair, who was draped over the back of a rustic armchair.

Foreign drugs, and foreign liquor.

The atmosphere was intoxicating. I had a perfect view of the entrance. People would be ushered in by their friends, then meet new ones, and old ones. Smiles played across their faces as jokes were told, and drinks were passed around. Then, one by one, they were absorbed into the aura of the pulsing room, listening to each other's heartbeats. Hands against chest, lips against neck. They were in their own world, not worrying about the past, not distressed about the future. Just living now.

How I envy them.

I helped Ross hook all the cords to amps, and get everyone their instruments. By 8:15 we were ready to start. I turned to the band,

"Little Bit of Red." I asked. They nodded in return, anxious to get the show started. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, and I felt at ease, at home even, on the stage.

Ross played out the first couple chords, then the rest of us joined in.

We had been playing for just under an hour, the crowd was loving it. Stompa was a hit, For You had them swaying their hips to the alluring jazzy sound, and What I Wanna Know had them dancing around and knocking into each other. Ross made the decision to finish with a slow one. Weak In The Knees is one of my personal favourites, and I was happy we were closing our first set with it.

As Ross switched guitars, and started hooking cords into his new one, a man entered the Macabre. He didn't seem like a usual. His suit was expensive, his hair was short and styled, and he was old. Not grandpa old, but not 20s. He seemed early 30s. I had never seen him before, and his presence in the room changed the atmosphere. He seemed sinister, mysterious. I was strangely drawn to him.

I was pulled out of my train of thought as Ross started strumming. A new rush of adrenaline filled me as I began to sing the opening lyrics.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Again he found himself looking at her elegant form. She was swaying to unfamiliar song that he didn't particularly like. He was more of a Rossini person. Again she stood out from the people around her. White dress, untamed hair sitting under a wide brimmed felt hat, and her shoes. He was speechless on the thought of her shoes. Charlotte Olympia embroidered velvet pumps. He felt himself shivering at the thought of taking them off her feet, then moving his hand up her legs, slowly. Pressing into the space behind her knee, and brushing his thumb over her kneecap.
> 
> He closed his eyes and sucked in a sharp breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N. Thank you for everyone who reviewed and followed! Much appreciated! Not sure how I feel about this chapter… I like the ending, hopefully you will aswell. Just a note: All lyrics in this chapter belong to their respective owners and performers. I just used them for let's say dramatic effect. I am (sadly) in no way affiliated with Serena Ryder and/or Lana Del Rey.
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> DFTBA! Xx

Moriarty's POV

Again he found himself looking at her elegant form. She was swaying to unfamiliar song that he didn't particularly like. He was more of a Rossini person. Again she stood out from the people around her. White dress, untamed hair sitting under a wide brimmed felt hat, and her shoes. He was speechless on the thought of her shoes. Charlotte Olympia embroidered velvet pumps. He felt himself shivering at the thought of taking them off her feet, then moving his hand up her legs, slowly. Pressing into the space behind her knee, and brushing his thumb over her kneecap.

He closed his eyes and sucked in a sharp breath.

"Why does she have this effect on me." He asked himself, "She's just some stupid girl that doesn't know how to take care of herself. I shouldn't even be here right now, surrounded by all these people, high on drugs not even paying attention to her."

He instantly took back the remark about her being stupid. She had thrown out the tainted drink and tried to fight the bastard off. She wasn't stupid, only fragile and not strong enough to defend herself. He would defend her though, again, and again until she was safe from all the bad things that have and will hurt her.

The intro to the song had ended, and Emily started to sing out. Her voice was melancholy, and her eyes were closed. She looked like she was in her own world, oblivious to all around her, even him. Even though he didn't like the song, he liked it when she sang. The sound of her voice was rough yet smooth. It cracked ever so slightly, but it made her sound real, and in the moment.

"Would you mind if I pretended we were somewhere else

Doing something we wanted to

Cause all this living makes me wanna do

Is die cause I can't live with you

And you don't even care

Would you mind if I pretended I was someone else

With courage in love and war

I used to think that's what I was

But now this lying hurts too much

And I don't know what for."

The look on her face as she sang was exquisite. Her brow furrowed slightly, a small smile fluttered on her lips, she twitched her nose imperceptibly. Her feet shifted from side to side, as did her body. This movement wasn't for show. It was natural, and went perfectly with the music. Not once did she waver on her shoes, they fit her perfectly and he knew it.

"I'm weak in the knees for you

But I'll stand if you want me to

My legs are strong and I'll move on

But honey I'm weak in the knees

Would you mind if I walked over and kissed your face

In front of all your friends

Would you mind if I got drunk and said

I wanna take you home to bed

Or would you change your mind"

His chest ached to hear her sing such words, ignorant to the fact that he cared for her. He moved his way closer to the stage. Her eyes opened and regarded him with curiosity. She didn't recognize him, how could she? She had only felt his arms around her, and heard his voice. He had made sure that she didn't see his face.

Emily's POV

It was him. I knew it was him, it had to be. A man in a suit that came out of nowhere, staring intensely at her as he made his way through the room to sit in an overstuffed chair, only a few feet from the stage. His eyes never left mine as he eased himself gently into the chair. His way of moving was planned. Every step, every tilt of the head, every glint in his dark eyes was deliberate, and it made me shiver. I could even smell him. Mint, aftershave, and scotch. His signature scent made my inside warm, and my head fuzzy. Before I knew it Ross had finished strumming, and the song had ended. The look on Char's face said we nailed it, and she tipped her head to me.

"Thank you." I mouthed.

I stole one more look at JM's face. His eyes bore into mine, and I had to look away. He was too intense.

The guys and me made our way off the stage, and headed towards the back room. I had to take off my jacket. Either the room was getting way hotter, or the thought of JM was too much to handle. I was feeling all hot and bothered. I felt someone come up behind me and jumped.

"Hey guys! Good job! You've got half an hour before your next set. Use you time well, I know how stressful this shit can be." It was only Charlotte. I wasn't sure if I was thankful or not. Ross followed Charlotte on her way out the door, and Sean and Nick started looking at me funny.

"Oh right, yeah...I'll give you two some room." I said as I scurried out the door. I could hear the, laughing as I closed the door behind me. I decided to go to the storage room. I couldn't bring myself to face him, not yet. The storage room was a lot different than the bar. The ambience was nowhere to be found, and it was cold as hell. Suddenly I regretted taking my jacket off, I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself. Comfy chairs were set out in a circle in the middle of the room. I made my way over to a high backed, Victorian style rosewood. My legs thanked my as I relaxed into the chair. I opened my phone and listened to the voice mail he had left me earlier today. He had said he wouldn't be seeing me, yet here he was. Curious.

Our next set was Lana Del Rey. I let out a huffing sigh. I loved her, she is the queen of everything, but it's bloody hard to sing her stuff well. Nick, who had suggested we do her tonight, also wanted to do the full version of Ride, including the monologue. I wouldn't be able to do justice to the masterpiece she had created. My voice wasn't right, the way I said everything seemed to forced, and I could barely remember the words. I started to practice out loud, so far I had spent over five hours on it, and I definitely needed more. The opening bit was good, but it was the stuff in the middle that always got my tongue-tied.

"I was always an unusual girl

My mother told me I had a chameleon soul

No moral compass pointing due north

No fixed personality

Just an inner indecisiveness that was a wide and as wavering as the ocean

And if I said I didn't plan for it to turn out this way I'd be lying

Because I was born to be the other woman

I belonged to no one

Who belonged to every one."

"You belong to me." A voice behind me said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one was a wee bit shorter than the others. I've got to go to work, but I will try to update when I get home! Also any suggestions on how you would like the story to go would be greatly appreciated!
> 
> Thanks again, DFTBA! xx


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one, bit of a filler leading up to the next one. Been having some troubles with ideas, but I think I'm on track now! *fingers crossed* Thank you to everyone reading, you are all lovely human beings!
> 
> DFTBA xx

Emily's POV

As I stood up and turned around, a pair of warm hands took hold of my hips and pulled me flush against their owner's chest. I collided with him with a small thump. My hands grasped his neck for support, and I looked up.

It was him. It was the mysterious JM.

His scent felt like a drug as it entered by body. I reached my hands up and ran my thumbs along his jaw line. His head tilted into my touch, and his eyelids fluttered closed. The grip on my waist tightened, and he pulled me closer until my head was resting against his chest. I could feel the drumming of his heart, and the vibration of his breath. His jacket was dark red velvet. It was soft against my arms.

One of his hands withdrew its hold on my hip, and made its way to the back of my neck. He threaded his fingers through my hair, and pulled gently to tilt my head up. His eyes were dark and sinister, but the demure smile on his lips suggested otherwise. I wasn't sure which one to trust, which one was more predominant. He must have sensed my hesitation because a look of thoughtfulness suddenly rippled across his face.

"You're safe with me." He said, "I'm not going to let anyone harm you."

His grip on my hair loosened, and he began to brush it out with his fingers. I leant into his body, breathing in his ethereal scent. I sighed slightly, and could feel a furtive laugh emanating from his chest.

"I never thought I would have the pleasure of meeting you again." He said, "I thought I had made up my mind after the phone call, but the fact that I had not been able to talk to you made me want to see you even more. As I undressed you, put you into your nightgown, then laid you down to rest, my body ached to lay beside you. Do note that I handled you with the utmost care and consideration."

"Thank you. For everything. I truly have no words to express my gratitude regarding your actions last night. If it had not been for you–I–I don't know what would've happened. You saved me, and I am indebted to you."

Moriarty's POV

She wasn't indebted to him, not truly. He had followed her out of the bar. He had dealt with the bastard that attacked her. And he had brought her home safely. He had done all these things, but had he the opportunity to stop all of them in the first place. He knew what was going to happen, and he took advantage of the situation to make an acquaintance with her. She would have never gone willingly with him, for she was to smart to trust someone so quickly. But the fact that he had saved her made her trust him. He wouldn't dare reveal this information to her. Not now. He had gotten her close; he had gotten to feel her heart against his once more. He was not going to throw that away.

He didn't know what to say. He wanted her to be indebted to him from now on until the day she leaves this world, but he could not bring himself to lie to her. He could not lie to his kitten. Yet on the other hand he found it exceedingly hard to tell the truth, and so he remained silent.

Moriarty's POV

I breathed her in. She was so small, and fragile. All I wanted to do was hold her, wrap her up in my arms, and be with her. She pressed her face into my shirt, and I felt her lips flutter gently over the spot where her mouth met the fabric. My face was buried in her soft brown locks.

Suddenly, she stood up straight, looked me in the eye and said, "I've got to go."

She turned around and hurried out of the storage room. She looked elegant even running away. I was up for a chase.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N. The next one is going to be fun ;) xx


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hello lovelies! Firstly, there are lyrics in this chapter. All lyrics belong to their respective owners. I am in no way affiliated with Lana Del Rey.
> 
> Just another note: I've been watching Downton Abbey, and there is a part where Maggie Smith is just so sassy and I just had do something like it.
> 
> Thank you!  
> DFTBA xx

Moriarty's POV

I followed her out the door, glad to be out of that god-forsaken excuse for a room. She was easy to track due to click-clack of her heels, and the footprints she left on the dusty floor. How can any human being enjoy spending time in this place? It was almost as filthy as the alleyway I had found her in last night.

She rounded the corner, and weaved her way through a series of tables and stacks of chairs. God was this place unorganized, if Emily spends any more time here I'm going to have to send in a team to fumigate, and sanitize the whole building.

She opened a door bearing a sign saying "EMPLOYEES AND PERFORMERS ONLY"

What a shame, does she really think a sign can keep me out? I could hear voices inside. Three male, two female, including Emily. They were getting ready to go back out and perform. Emily was apologizing for being a bit off her game, and she promised she'd be less distracted. Hmmmm, why not have a little fun and distract her even more.

I burst through the door; thankfully they were the type that swung back so it added even more dramatic effect.

"Hey! What the bloody hell do you think yer doing? You can't be back here!" Said male voice number 1. I looked at him, his stance said alpha of the group. His fingertips were calloused, most likely from playing the guitar. Grade-A ladies man judging by the way he dressed, and the care he had put in styling his close cropped blond hair. He shifted his weight slightly, making a barrier between me and female number 1.

"You shouldn't be back here sir, employees only." Said the woman. She was romantically involved with the first one. Her eyes kept darting from me to him, and her body was tilted slightly so she was almost touching him. Wild red hair, heavy makeup, and low-cut top suggested she manned the bar. She was also most likely the owner due to her formally addressing me as sir. Males number 2 and 3 both had their arms crossed over their chests. Both had small chains with matching pendants dangling in the V of their shirts.

"Dating." I said to myself.

They were all regarding me with a mixture of anger, curiosity, and apprehensiveness. All except Emily. Her mouth was open slightly, an expression of surprise on her becoming face. This was fun. She had never played a game with me before, and I was anxious to see how she would react.

I channeled Richard Brook.

"I just, I wanted to come in and say your all amazing. Especially you." I said pointing at Emily. "You're really pretty, and your voice is nice, and–"

"Alright," said male number 1 while making his way over to me, "looks like we've got a fan boy."

"I'm not a fan boy, well in the scheme of things I guess I am, but not one of those creepy ones. I just want to say hi, and maybe take you out to dinner. I'm an actor you see, so dinner and a show would be lovely. Only if you want to of course."

"Alright mate, I'd really love to stay and chat, but we've got to head out there. People waiting and such. Maybe we can talk some things out after the show, just you and I, okay? Don't come back here again alright." Male number 1 grabbed me by the shoulder, and started ushering me out of the room. Before we went out the door, I looked back and saw the look on Emily's face. God it was priceless. I was half tempted to pull my phone out and capture a picture.

Bloody hell that was fun.

Emily's POV

"Well that was fucked up," I said out loud.

"Uh tell me about it." Replied Charlotte. "Are you ok? You look kinda freaked."

Was I ok? That was not the man I had seen before. This guy was all stressed, and nervous, running his hands through his hair. He seemed very off. I wanted to trust him, but at the same time I didn't. I couldn't find a medium. All I felt was a flurry of emotions and it was rattling me.

"Come on then, we've got to get out there. Ten minutes till show time." Charlotte said, dragging Sean and Nick behind her.

"Ill be there in a minute, I just need to grab my jacket."

I went over to the table where I had set my jacket down. I was shivering, unsure whether it was due to the lack of heat, or the predicament I was in with Mr. JM. God, I still didn't know his name.

"Sneaky bastard." I muttered under my breath.

"It's nice to see you think so highly of me. I'll take that as a compliment."

Bloody hell. I turned around, and saw his cheeky grin. All evidence of his nervous actions before had been erased, and he now held a cocky demeanor. I was not going to let him get the best of me.

"I must have said it wrong." I replied, pursing my lips and tilting my head. Now it was his turn to be surprised. I brushed by him, and headed out the door.

"Oh, and I'll take you up on that offer." I said just as I left the room

"What offer?"

"Dinner and a show. Only if you want to of course." Sarcasm laced my voice.

I fought the urge to turn around. Once I was out of his view, I ran to meet up with Char and the guys.

"You good Em?" Asked Ross.

"Yep! Never better, now lets get this show on the road."

We opened with Ride, and if I do say so myself, it went pretty well. Mr. JM still hadn't made his appearance in the room. He was probably sulking in some corner, brooding over the fact that I can play games too.

We had played the last couple of songs, and were ready to head off stage. Right as I stepped back from the mike, he came in. He entered through the side door, and positioned himself so no one on stage could see him. I looked at the guys, they hadn't noticed him enter.

"You good to go Em?" Asked Ross.

"Can we do one more song?" They seemed down with it, "How 'bout Is It Wrong?"

"Ah yesss!" Said Sean and Nick, in sync.

"You guys love her don't you." It was more of a statement than a question.

"I would stop being gay for Lana Del Rey." Said Nick.

"Hey there, watch what your saying." Said Sean, hitting Nick on the arm.

"Admit it babe, you'd do the same."

God I love these boys.

Moriarty's POV

She had become even more interesting to him. Any other girl would've yelled, "Creep", but she had decided to play along with his game. By the looks of her asking the boys if they wanted to play another song, she was about to continue playing. Comparing this music to what he had he before, he had definitely liked the latter. This girl did have talent though, her voice ranging almost three octaves. Sometimes it cracked and wavered, but that just got the crowd going even more. He couldn't understand.

"I guess it's systematic of this slight infatuation

Stalking you has sorta become my occupation

Used to be a beauty queen with simple acquisitions

Met my local rock star now I'm having visions."

She was definitely playing a game. In her first performance she had only swayed, and bent her knees every once in a while. Right now he was seeing another side of her. She was dancing in circles, swinging her arms in the air, swaying with her hips. Moriarty wasn't sure if he liked what she was doing or not. This was much more different than the quiet, demure girl he had met before.

"Is it wrong, is it wrong

Making out with you while you're singing your song

Is it wrong, is it wrong

You're playing your guitar and it's turning me on

You got your eyeliner, long hair, walking round like you don't care

You got me in the back of your car, like a star

Is it wrong, is it wrong

If it's wrong I don't wanna be right"

She started to dance with the guitarist. The other two were looking at her with smiles on their faces, surprised by her sudden burst of energy. She sauntered over to the one using the synthesizer. She ruffled his hair, and he leant up and kissed her cheek.

This whole performance was enraging Moriarty. She was playfully seducing the men in her band, along with the whole crowd. They had their hands out, reaching to get a touch from her own. They were praising her as she promenaded around, drinking in their flattery. He did not like this. He should be the only one allowed to praise her, and touch her. She was infuriating him, and he would make her pay.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Here's another one my lovelies!

Emily's POV

The rest of the night had gone wonderfully. After we were done our final performance, Ross and I stuck around and chatted with the bar-goers. We met a couple that wanted us to play at party they were hosting, and we gladly agreed. After a short conversation with Charlotte, I decided to head back home. I hadn't seen Mr. JM in the bar after our second set. He probably didn't enjoy my little performance onstage. To be honest, I had found it quite enjoyable. I liked the dancing, and cheering, and laughing the audience did. Their energy radiated back to me, and I would dance without caring, sing better, and have an even more exceptional time. I wish I had done something like that before, not just because I wanted to play along with JM's game. I had a slightly hollow feeling in my stomach, disappointed in how I had acted just to get a reaction out of a man who's name I didn't even know.

After a long drive home, I walked lazily up the path to my house, and unlocked the door. Once I stepped inside I knew I was not alone. I could feel his presence in the room.

"Hello again Emily." I turned on the lights and looked in the direction his voice came from. He sat in my desk chair, back to me. As I walked into the room, he swiveled the chair around so he was facing me. He was drumming his fingers absentmindedly on the arm of the chair.

"Bit cliché don't you think." I say, leaning against the wall.

"Every fairytale needs a good old fashioned villain." He said, eyes dark.

"Well," I started, "If you're the villain, who's my prince charming?"

"You seemed into the guitarist you were dancing with." His voice was bitter.

"Maybe I'll call him right now." I said, standing up and making my way to the phone.

"No you won't." He said in a sinister voice.

"How are you going to stop me?" I knew I was testing his patience. Each time I talked back to him his eyes got a little darker, and the corners of his mouth turned up a little higher. He wasn't smiling though.

"I could disconnect your phone lines with a touch of a button." He said, waving his mobile in the air, "I could disconnect his phone lines, or," he continued, taking a step towards me with every word, "I could tie you down so tight you won't even be able to move a finger."

He was inches away. I could the faint shadow of stubble lining his jaw. His head was tilted slightly; he was waiting intently to hear my answer.

"What's your name?" I could see my question caught him off guard. Surprise flickered across his face for a split second. It was quickly replaced by a cocky glare.

"Jim."

"Well Jim, you'll have to catch me first."

I darted to the right, and ran down the hall. I looked over my shoulder and saw him come after me. He was fuming. I giggled, but that just made him look even more menacing. I ran around the corner, and dashed down the next corridor. I made it to the end of the hall, and turned around.

He wasn't there.

I held my breath and listened for any sign of movement, but the house was silent.

I padded quietly around the corner, poking my head into the kitchen. No sign in there. I went through and looked back in the living room. Where did he go? I let out a sigh, shook my head, and turned around. Suddenly a pair of hands were on my waist pushing me back so my spine hit the wall with a thud.

"Got you." He breathed into my ear. I shivered as the warm air made its way over my skin. He moved his hands so they were wrapped around my wrists. Using his hips and the grip on my hands he pushed me even harder into the wall. He had me completely restrained.

 

Moriarty's POV

"Do I get a prize for catching you?" I asked. I didn't need one, not really. The look on her face was sufficient enough. Her eyes told me she was slightly disappointed that her bravado had ended, but they also showed desire.

I bent my head down, and blew a wave of air across her neck. Her wrists wriggled gently against my hands. I moved her arms so they were all the way above her head. One of my hands held the grip on hers while the other one made its way to her face. I ran my thumb along her bottom lip; it opened slightly as she took in a sharp breath. Her body was reacting exactly how I wanted it to. Her breath was quickening, and I could feel her heart hammering through her chest. I continued to trace patterns on her face. Connecting the dots of her freckles, smoothing down her eyebrows, outlining her lips. She was shuddering against my body, most likely ignorant to such a form of touch and affection. I brought my face down so our lips were inches apart. Her head started to inch forwards, but I just pushed her harder into the wall, not wanting the space between us to close just yet.

"You're mine. Do you understand?"

She nodded. Her eyes were closed.

"Say it." I murmured.

"I'm yours."

"Good girl."

I released her wrists, and withdrew from the wall. I grabbed my jacket from the back of the chair I had occupied earlier, and made my way towards the door.

"Stay." I heard her whisper. It was almost inaudible. I had planned to leave her all hot and bothered as revenge for the stunt she pulled with the guitarist, but as I turned around I knew that would not be the case. She did not look angry for my sudden attempt at departure, and all lust had drained from her face. She looked desperate for affection. Her hair was still a mess from our earlier encounter, and she was absent-mindedly rubbing her wrists. Bruises had already started to form. Damn it. I had promised myself I would be gentle with her fragile body. I had already hurt her, so early on. What would become of her if we go any further?

"Please stay." She whispered again, eyes downcast, starring at the floor.

I walked over to her with outstretched arms. She fit perfectly in the space between my arms and chest.

"I won't go. I won't leave you." I whispered into her ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Next one might take a bit. I've got to start to figure out where I want the story to go! xx


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This one is really short. I did it up so you would have somewhat of an idea as to what Jim is thinking. Thanks to everyone who has stayed with me so far! It makes the world to me!
> 
> DFTBA xx

Moriarty's POV

I didn't fall asleep that night. It would have been simple had I wanted to. Listening to the sound of her breathing blocked out any creaks of the house.  
In  
Out  
In  
Out  
Watching the rise and fall of her chest was calming, like watching waves lapping at the shore.  
Up  
Down  
Up  
Down  
Even drinking in her scent soothed my mind, and let me think clearly. I do have a lot of thinking to do. It was a wonder I wasn't bored with her yet. None of the woman I had been with before had ever wanted emotional affection, only physical. If they had wanted anything emotional I would of shut them down immediately without a second thought. I was so used to coming, getting what I wanted, and getting out. I don't think I've gotten anything I wanted with her, not yet anyway. To be true, I wasn't even sure what I wanted. My usual desires had all but left me. What was it about her. When she wanted to play, I played. When she wanted me to stay, I stayed. What would she want from me next? Maybe I should ask something of her. A favour for all that I have done for her. But what have I really done?

I stayed like that all night. Analyzing my situation, trying to draw a conclusion. Everytime I got worked up, she would shift around. Her head would lay on my chest, her hand on my stomach, gently fisting the t-shirt I was wearing. It seemed as if she were trying to calm me down, even in her absence of consciousness. I began to rely on her small movements to bring me back to the room. Too often had I let my mind wander to a far off place, too often had I struggled to return. Sometimes I didn't even want to return. I didn't want to stay here. It's so boring, just...staying. My mind would wonder off like this. Contemplating things I shouldn't be contemplating. Then, as if she knew what I was thinking, she would press her face down into my chest and let out a sigh. And in that sigh would be a single syllable, almost inaudible.  
Jim.  
My name. She would say my name, and bring me back. I would be back beside her. I would feel her presence next to me. Her face pressed to my chest, warm breath tickling my skin, fingers dancing involuntarily over my stomach. I would savour this precious moment. Listening to her breathe, watching the rise and fall of her chest, drinking in her scent.

I realized something while lying awake next to her.  
Maybe it wasn't about the affection that she wanted.  
Maybe it was about the affection that I wanted.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hello! Sorry it's been a while, but I've been having troubles with ideas! I think I'm on the right track now! *Praise the Lord* Anyway...hope you like it! Reviews are greatly appreciated
> 
> p.s. All books mentioned in this chapter belong to their respective authors.
> 
> DFTBA xx

Emily's POV

 

I woke up alone the next morning. His side of the bed was still warm, and I could still smell his captivating scent.  
The clock read 6:30. The sun outside was rising. It sent waves of gossamer light in through the blinds. I was warm, wrapped up in blankets that held the body heat of two. I pulled the duvet up over my head and made a fort out of the blankets. My body was surrounded by warmth, and the scent of mint.

After some time the blankets grew cold, and began to smell like my laundry detergent. My body ached from not being with him, but I had to get up. After a long shower and two cups of coffee, I headed out the door. With the economy going to shit I had to get two jobs. One of them being performing at Macabre, and the other working as a librarian at the public library. Working at Macabre would definitely have the library beat any day.

After six hours of checking in books, checking out books, sorting books, shelving books, and shushing rowdy adolescents, my shift had finally ended. I walked down the front steps and out onto the sidewalk. I paused, taking in a breath of fresh air. Don't get me wrong, I love the library. Reading is one my favourite (and mostly likely my only) pastimes. I read all types of books from Jane Eyre to The Hobbit. Currently my favourite is The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald. His way with words is like nothing I have seen before.

After a few more minutes of basking in the fresh air I decided I had better head home. As I turned to walk down the street, I ran full force into an unsuspecting pedestrian. He must have been running, because the force of our bodies colliding had knocked me off my feet. I fell to the ground with a thump.

"Oh dear lord! Are you alright miss?" Said a man while helping me to my feet.  
"Yes,no need to worry about it! It was my fault, I wasn't looking." I said, looking up at him.  
"Well I wasn't looking as well, so that makes two of us." His eyes were warm, and kind. When he smiled, his eyes smiled with him. His hair was a nice greyish brownish colour, and he wore a cream coloured jumper over top of a collared shirt. His face was comforting to look at.  
"John, John Watson." He said, extending his hand.  
"Emily Grace." I said, taking his hand and shaking it. "So, why were you running around in front of the library? I am a librarian myself and I do have the jurisdiction to report you as an unruly citizen."  
"Ah yes, well I was running to catch the bus, but then I ran into you instead." He chuckled. It was a nice sound.  
"Oh dear, have I made you miss the bus?" I suddenly felt terrible.  
"Yeah, there it goes now. But don't worry about it, its easy enough to flag down a taxi."  
"I have a car, why don't I drive you home. It's the least I can do after making you miss your bus."  
"Oh I couldn't possibly make you do that." He said, shaking his head.  
"It's quite alright. I have nothing to do anyways."  
"Oh alright." He said. I directed him to where my car was parked.  
"Where to." I asked.  
"221B Baker Street."

 

Moriarty's POV

 

I was standing in an abandoned warehouse. A few of my men were outside, and a few of them were inside with me dealing with the problem at hand.  
"Peter, Peter, Peter. You really made the wrong decision with choosing to go to Mycroft Holmes in regards to your current...situation." I said, singing his name.  
"Sir, Moriarty, sir, I didn't mean to. Before I knew it I was there. I hadn't wanted to–"  
"Ah, but you did." I shook my head, and walked over to him. He attempted to move back, but his efforts were futile. He was being held by two men, both stronger than him. Peter used to be one of my best men. He was adept at hacking, and gathering information. Even though I was perfectly adequate at retrieving information from organizations protected with eight high-security firewalls, it bored me to do something so elementary. I hired Peter to do the job instead.

Sadly that would no longer be the case. Peter had been having money troubles, and instead of coming to me he decided to go to good old Mycroft and sell information.

"What did you need the money for Peter?" I asked softly.  
He just stared at the floor, his eyes blank.  
"I ASKED YOU A QUESTION AND I EXPECT A RESPONSE" I took two steps, and was now inches away from him. I grabbed his chin and forced it upwards. We were now staring at each other. He began to shake.  
"What did you need the money for?" My voice was deadly silent. Only he could hear me.  
"I-I needed an operation sir." He started, "My-my kidneys were failing and I needed a transplant. The insurance didn't cover it."  
"This surgery, has it happened already?"  
He nodded.  
"And the money, it has all been spent on the surgery?"  
He nodded.  
"Well we seem to be at a dead end here. You have no money to give to me after your betrayal, and you are obviously in recovery so your skills will not be up to par. Although none of that matters anymore." Suddenly an idea clicked, "I know what we can do." I said, laughing.  
"Oh Jacob! Won't you come over here for a moment." I sang, motioning towards a six foot four, 250 pound man.  
"Yes sir?" He said as he walked over.  
"If I am not mistaken, you're still a butcher. Is that correct?"  
"Yes sir."  
"Wonderful," I purred, "Take out his kidneys."  
"Gladly." He said, an evil smile crept upon his face.  
"No sir! Moriarty no please! I'll do anything! PLEASE! NO PLEASE!" I heard Peter cry as I walked away. As soon as I exited the building, the crying turned into screaming. It was blood-curdling. It was exciting.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hello! Updates will be taking more time because I will be starting back at school soon (sadly), but I will try my best to fit in as much writing time as possible. This chapter is introducing John, Sherlock, and Ms Hudson. I hope you like it! Any suggestions are greatly appreciated!
> 
> Thanks!
> 
> DFTBA xx

Emily's POV

"Well here we are." I said, pulling in to the curb to let John out.  
"You should come in for a cup of tea. You must be famished, just getting off of work and all."  
"Oh I really don't want to trouble you any further. I've already made you miss you bus, and I don't want to intrude."  
"Oh come on. Besides, didn't I hear you say you had nothing else to do this afternoon?"  
He's got me there.  
"Aright, only if you insist."  
Made our way to the building, and up the stairs to John's flat.  
"I have to warn you, my flat mate is a bit...well...you know." He was struggling to find a description. I could see his cheeks flush slightly, and he ran his hand through his hair. He was nervous.  
"That's alright. I'm around a whole array of people and personalities all the time. He can't be that bad."  
"Sometimes he is." I heard him mutter under his breath.  
As we walked through the door I heard a flurry of voices.  
"Sherlock! I am not your housekeeper!" Yelled a woman.  
"Yes Ms. Hudson, I've heard you say that many times before." Said a man with a sigh.  
"Then how come everytime I come up here I am always cleaning." Said the woman, exasperated.  
"Well I haven't asked you to clean anything, you just seem to do it yourself."  
"That's because its a pigsty up here. I can't imagine living in here."  
"And that's why you live in your own flat."  
"Yes, well I suppose. Where has John gotten to? He's been out a while."  
"That's my cue." Whispered John.  
"I'm here, I'm here. No need to worry about my well being."  
"Oh, we weren't worrying John." Said the male voice  
"Sherlock!"  
"Well he is perfectly capable at handling himself. You didn't have another row with a chip and pin machine did you?"  
"No, Sherlock I didn't"  
"Then why don't you have the shopping?"  
John, let out a sigh and turned around, motioning me to come in.  
"This is Emily, Emily Grace. I ran into her on the street."  
"Actually it was she that ran into you. Dust on her pants suggest she fell over due to the impact, so you were most likely running. You were running to catch the bus. She felt bad about running into you and making you miss your bus, so she offered you a ride home. John, you in turn felt bad about her having to drive you home, so invited her in for a cup of tea. Your body language says you both just met, judging by your apprehensiveness as to what you should say or do."  
As he finished the last sentence, he turned around. I couldn't distinguish the emotion on his face. It was a jumble of boredom, and interest. Just the look on his long, angular face gave me more confusion than everything he had just spurted out.

I got a good look at him. An untamed mop of black hair sitting atop his head. He was tall, menacingly tall. His face aswell as his fingers were long and elegant. He was fascinating to look at. I was pulled out of my trance as John spoke up.  
"It wasn't her fault I missed the bus, it was more of a joint effort."  
Thanks John  
"Ah well, none of it matters."  
"No it doesn't. Now Sherlock why don't you introduce yourself properly to our guest." Said the woman.  
"Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective." He held out his hand, I reached mine out and shook it.  
"Hi, Sherlock." I said in a timid voice. This man is really putting me off.  
"And I'm Ms. Hudson, their landlady. Not their housekeeper, although they always say otherwise."  
"Ms. Hudson we've been over this before!"  
"Oh don't start with your whining boy! Offer your guest some food! Ill be downstairs if you need me."  
Ms Hudson left, tidying a few things as she made her way to the door. I like her. I chuckled to myself, she reminded me of my mom.  
"What? What is it?" Snapped Sherlock.  
"Nothing! Nothing, sorry. Didn't mean to offend you. I was just thinking of something."  
A wave of silence passed through the room  
"Alright then!" Said John, breaking the awkward silence, "I'll get some food ready."  
"John, we don't have any food. You didn't get to the shopping."  
"Oh yes, well," said John while running his hands through his hair.  
"I can run down to the cafe outside you flat and pick something up." I offered. I wanted to be out of this room. Sherlock's presence was icy, and I didn't want to upset him again.  
"You stay here with Sherlock, I'll grab some sandwichs."  
With that John left me and Sherlock alone. Thanks for that John.  
"You seem nervous." He said suddenly.  
"Yes well, you've got that right."  
He looked at me with his stunning green eyes. It was like he looking into my heart and soul, but also right through me. His gaze met mine, then flickered to my cheek.  
"Your right cheek is scrapped. Judging by the scabbing patterns I presume it was from being forced into gravel. Also the bruises across your knuckles, and scraps on your palms show signs that you were recently in a struggle. Bite marks on your ears, and neck suggest a violent one. The–"  
"Stop. Please stop." It felt like I had a lump of iron in my stomach.  
"You seem sensitive about the subject."

Why was he bringing this up?

He looked at me with his green eyes, mood still unchanging.  
"Sexual assault."  
"I asked you to stop." My voice was barely audible, even to myself.  
I could feel a single tear escape my eye. I reached up to wipe it away before he could notice, but he stopped my hand midway. Using his thumb, he caught the tear just as it traveled down my cheek bone. The saltiness of the tear, and the pressure from his thumb stung my healing scratches.  
"It's tragic that you had to experience something like that. If you need help bringing your attacker to justice I can offer my services."  
"He's already been dealt with. Thanks for the offer though." I said curtly.  
We fell into silence again. The sound of the radiator seemed deafening.

My mind was racing, trying to make all the connections he just had.  
"What you did just then, it was.." I was at a loss for words.  
"Annoying? Disturbing? An abomination? Dis–"  
"Amazing. I was going to say amazing."  
The look he gave me made me jump a little. He smiled. He actually smiled. His eyes lit up, and I could see a perfect set of teeth emerging from his upturned mouth.  
"So far only two people have said that to me. You and John."  
"What do they usually say?"  
"Piss off."  
"Well that's just crazy. You definitely have a gift, and people should acknowledge it as something brilliant."  
He just continued to stare at me, and smile. He seemed completely awestruck. Maybe I shouldn't of said anything.

Suddenly I heard John make his way up the stairs, and into the flat.  
"Good. He hasn't scared you off yet." He said with a hint of sarcasm.  
"We were just having a lovely conversation about..." I was yet again at a loss for words.  
"About how she was sexually assaulted." Sherlock said.  
Oh god. Seriously?  
"What! Are you alright?" Said John, dropping the bags he was carrying and rushing over to me.  
"Yes I am. It has been dealt with. Sherlock just seems to enjoy getting into peoples heads and bringing out all their secrets." I said, shooting a glare at him. Not everyone needs to know everything about.  
"I observe, deduce, then bring out the truth. I can't think of a reason as to why John shouldn't know about your situation."

"Oh really," I retorted, "because I can think of a whole lot–"  
Ms. Hudson must of sensed the tension in the room because she burst through the door.  
"Alright! I heard John come in from the cafe. Let's get you all fed!"  
She bustled around the room, grabbing stray items and storing them on the fireplace beside a very real looking skull. She grabbed plates from the kitchen, picked the bag of food up and passed out the sandwichs.

"Now this is what a meal is. You boys should stop eating takeaway, it's not good for you."

"Well technically this is takeaway." Said John

"Oh you know what I mean."

Our evening continued like this. Pleasant conversation, the occasional joke usually supplied by John. I told them about my job at Macabre. John told me about his service in Afghanistan. Ms Hudson told us about a knew recipe she found online. Sherlock, however, did not say anything at all. Throughout the night he regarded me with his brilliant green eyes, not saying a single word, only casually nodding his head. That man was a mystery.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All books mentioned belong to their respective authors!  
> Thanks for reading,  
> DFTBA xx

Moriarty's POV

I need to see her. How long had we been apart? A little more than 14 hours. I was now crashing from the high I had gotten from hearing Peter's scream. My hands were shaking, and I felt tired. Exhausted even. On top of that I was bored. I needed a diversion and watching her talk, laugh, even breathe was enough to distract me from my boredom.

I walked up the steps to her flat, and took out my key. I had a copy made so I could have easy access at all times. As I entered, I knew no one was home. A few lights were left on, but the flat didn't seem as bright as it had when she was in it.

I walked around, picking up stray objects, turning them over, then placing them back in their spot. I looked at pictures on her desk. Emily and a woman, her mother I suppose. Emily and her friend Charlotte. Emily and the band. I was about to turn away when something caught my eye. A piece of folded paper wedged in between a copy of Pride and Prejudice and Lolita. I pulled it out and unfolded it. It was a candid shot of her and some man. Her was holding her over his shoulder, running through a field. I was suddenly full with jealous rage. It was as if their smiling faces were taunting me. She looked happy, happier than I had ever seen her be before. I flipped over the picture and read the writing on the back.

Cousin Isaac and Emily at Grace family reunion.

He was family. Just family. I couldn't believe myself, do I even need to be here right now? I could just find someone else to quench my thirst for excitement. I could always sponsor another serial killer. Money can make people do incredible things, incredibly interesting things. Or I could always play another game with him. With Sherlock. Yes, another game was definitely in store for him. A great game.

Until then I decided to wait for Emily to come home. I continued to look through her pictures, and her books. Her collection of literature was quite impressive, some of them were even first edition. Perhaps I should add a couple of my volumes to her collection. Maybe that would make her happy. I paced through her house picking up things, putting them down, flicking lights on, flicking them off. Eventually I found myself in her bedroom. Her bed sheets were in one large mass in the middle of the bed. With nothing better to do I decided to make her bed. As I spread the sheets back across her bed, I could smell her on them. Vanilla filled my airways as I laid down on the bed. My eyes rolled back into my skulls as my senses alighted with lust. I would have her tonight if I could. I would love her until her vision clouded. I would hold her in my arms and whisper sweet nothings into her ear until she fell asleep. I would pet her and she would purr like a kitten. My kitten.

Emily's POV

After dinner at 221B Baker Street, I made my way home. When I got back to my flat lights were on, objects were out of order, and books were all over my desk.  
"Damn that man." I knew it was him. His scent filled the air. Mint, aftershave, and scotch. My body began to tingle as I breathed it in.

I walked into my room and there he was, sitting in the middle of my bed. He didn't say anything, so I laid my bag down and sat beside him. He turned and looked me straight in the eyes, gaze narrowing.  
"Where were you." He asked, his cold voice seeping through his teeth.  
"I was at work." I avoided his harsh gaze, pretending that something on the ground looked really interesting.  
"Work? Last time I checked you don't do performances on weekdays."  
"I have a second job. At the library."  
"The library?" He said. In an instant his voice changed. It went from being sinister to happy. It was almost as if he was singing.  
"Why that is just so adorable," he continued, "Do you have to wear a special uniform? Do you get to shush people if they are talking to much? Oh darling I am going to have to visit you sometime. I can just imagine you in a–"  
"Shhhhhhhh!" I said, putting my finger to his lips, giggling at his sudden outburst. With his change of mood, mine had changed to.  
"I don't think your finger is enough to shut me up." He said looking at me, eyes growing dark. My stomach jumped. First sinister, then happy-go-lucky, then lust driven. He was driving me wild. I couldn't keep up. He continued to look at me. I assumed he wanted me to use my lips to shut him up. Cheeky bastard. I wasn't going to play his game today, so instead I shoved both my hands in his face, pushing him down. I picked up a pillow and hit him across the stomach.  
"How's that for shutting you up?" I let out a huff and started to get off the bed. Before I could even make it to the edge, he caught me by the wrists and pulled my down onto him.  
"You want to play then? I can play, but I've got to tell you I might not play to fair."  
"W–well,"I stammered, trying to calm my racing heart and ragged breath, "I clearly have an advantage already. I am on top after all."  
Once I said it, I knew I was going to regret it. A coy smile played across his face. His features lit up with devilish intent.  
"That can be changed in a matter of seconds sweetheart."  
He shifted his weight, and rolled over so I was now underneath him. His weight was pushing down on me at full force. The breath had been blown out of my body, and I could feel his heart beat calmly against my racing one.  
"Have I got you all riled up now?" He said chuckling.  
"N-no. W-why would you s-ay that?" I was stumbling over my words, and it was clearly not helping my situation. He only continued to laugh harder, crushing me down further into the mattress.  
"Jim! I can't breathe!" I said, gasping for air.  
"What was that? I couldn't hear you." He sang  
"Jim!" I laughed, "Get off!"  
"Stop being such a downer. You know you were into this a moment ago."  
"Into what? Being flattened like a pancake?"  
"Now you're just calling me fat."  
"God! You don't ever stop do you"  
"Not until I get what I want." His voice changed again.  
"Please, enlighten me." Sarcasm coated my voice.  
"Careful." He snapped.  
"W-what do you want?"  
"It more so who than what."  
I knew he meant me. I even knew before this whole conversation had started. He had come for something he wanted, and he wasn't going to leave until he got it. Maybe if I was lucky he wouldn't leave at all. Maybe he would stay. Maybe I would see him tomorrow morning. Why would he stay though? He hadn't stayed this morning. I knew I wanted him in more ways than he wanted me. My body ached to please him, but it also ached to be loved in return. I shifted around underneath him, averting his gaze.  
"Hey," he whispered, "What do you want?"  
His mood had changed again. No games, no teasing, he was asking me what I wanted. I looked into his eyes. They weren't sinister, they weren't lustful, they weren't ecstatic. There was no uncanny burst of emotion in his voice or on his face. He was calm, thoughtful, even slightly concerned.  
I took a deep breath.  
"You." I said, "I want you."


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Divine Comedy belongs to it's respective author

Moriarty's POV

"You," she said, "I want you."  
As soon as she said it he tilted his head down and caught her lips with his. He was expecting a soft moan to escape from her mouth, but instead there was a giggle. A small childish giggle, the kind that only happens after the child has done something really bad, and hasn't gotten caught. He had never heard someone giggle before. He wish he had because it was much more enticing than any moan or scream he had gotten out of other women.

He left her mouth and continued to kiss down her jawline, down her neck, along her collarbone until he was at her jugular notch. Hers was even more hollow than anyone's he had seen before. Her body had much less mass to it than his usual female companions. No curves, no overbearing breasts. With just a glance at her chest he could see they were 34A. Small, but just the perfect size to fit into his hand. He placed one arm beside her head to distribute some of his weight. The other began to work on unbuttoning her shirt. His fingers danced over the buttons, and then he threw the shirt to the floor. He stole a quick glance down at her exposed torso. She wore a sheer rusty pink lace bra. Through the thin material he could see the small peaks of her nipples. He blew a quick stream of air along her body, and she wriggled under the contact of the cool wind. Now it was his turn to laugh.  
"What. are. you. laughing. at?" Her words came out broken, syllables being said between breathy laughs.  
"Nothing. Everything."  
She gave him a confused look, but that only made him laugh harder. He pressed his lips back onto her body. She let out a sigh and closed her eyes. The warmth in his stomach was growing more predominate with every breath she took. He proceeded to help her out of her trousers. He then watched her slide of his blazer, unbutton his shirt, and, in turn, help him out of his trousers. She danced her fingers elegantly over his chest, feeling the beating of his heart, felling the rise and fall of his breath. She placed a small kiss on each of his collarbones, and he shuddered at the contact of her warm lips.

His hands ran underneath her back and unclasped her bra. He returned his contact to her chest, and swept his thumbs underneath the soft protrusion of skin. He kissed down her sternum, down her abdomen, all the way to her navel. He could feel her muscles contracting at his touch. She was growing warm. Her back arched as he blew another stream of air onto her body. She began to breath heavily as he drew down her underwear. Her hands found the back of his head, and her fingers wound themselves into his hair. This above all was the most appeasing thing he had felt. Her gentle fingers caressed the back of his head and neck and he bit and kissed the insides of her thighs. He took her in his mouth. That alone was almost too much for her. He glanced up at her face. Her head was tilted back, eyes closed, mouth gently parted. She sighed his name.  
"Jim"  
The sound of his name on her lips made him sink his face further in between her thighs. His hands held her in place as his fingertips dug into her hips. She would have bruises tomorrow.  
"Jim." She said again, more desperate than before.  
He made his way back up her body. When their faces were level he whispered into her ear.  
"What do you need sweetheart?"  
"Jim...I" She was struggling to contain herself, her needs. Moriarty didn't want her to hold back though, he wanted her to be his in all ways she could. And for that, she couldn't holdback.  
"Tell me what you need." He whispered, bitting her ear lobe.  
"I...you, Jim I need you."

He woke up beside her the next morning. Her body was facing him, he could see her pink cheeks, and her small chest. Her breathing was gentle, calm. The bed smelt of sex and vanilla, and it was warm and appeasing. He had cleared his morning schedule so he could wake up next to her and breathe her in. He picked a book up off her bedside table, it was well used. The Divine Comedy. A masterpiece

Last nights events danced around in his mind. Her gasps as he moved inside her, giggles when he bit her neck, and his name on her lips as she came. Hearing his name was enough to send him over the edge.  
They laid beside each other. He wrapped her delicate body up in his arms. Her face pressed to his chest. Her breath began to slow, and he knew she was drifting off. He hadn't wanted to take his eyes off of her, but in the morning he wanted to be fully rested. He wanted to take in her form free of groggy eyes. He wanted to look at her sleeping body with a refreshed mind. And so he went to sleep.  
His eyes now traveled lazily over her exposed skin, and brown hair. He turned back to The Divine Comedy and started reading.

"... But to that second circle of sad hell,  
Where 'mid the gust, the whirlwind, and the flaw  
Of rain and hail-stones, lovers need not tell  
Their sorrows. Pale were the sweet lips I saw,  
Pale were the lips I kiss'd, and fair the form  
I floated with, about that melancholy storm."

He had felt overcome by lust last night. He had held her, and pleased her. She in turn had pleased him with her gentle hands. If he were to descend into any of the nine circles hell, he would go there willingly, knowing he had gotten what he wanted. He had given in to his sins of appetite, sins of self-indulgence, and sins of passion before. Many a time before, with many different women. After fucking them, he would feel the great need to wash off. To wash his carnal lusting away, and return to his daily business. It was different with Emily. The lust he felt for her wasn't sinful. Everything he felt with her was virtuous and pure. She was his, and he was not going to let her go.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This one is set a couple days after the last one. It is set during The Blind Banker. (Spoiler alert incase you haven't seen it) I have gotten rid of Sarah's character (Apologies! Don't hate me!) Emily will join Sherlock and John at the circus, and throughout the night.  
> This one's got a lot of dialogue from the show so bear with me!
> 
> I do not own Sherlock or any of the characters/script. Everything belongs to their respective authors.
> 
> DFTBA xx

Emily's POV

I was on my way to 221B Baker Street. John had invited me to attend the circus. I had never liked them when I was younger. There were too many people, too much garbage, and of course there were clowns. He had told me it wouldn't be like any of the ones I had gone to, so I decided to give it a shot.

I stopped in for a nice chat with Ms Hudson, then we were on our way.  
"It's been years since I've been to the circus." I said  
"A friend recommended it to me. I don't know much about it though."  
We approached the venue. It was decorated with hundreds of lanterns, glowing in the night. There was a sign reading 'The Yellow Dragon Circus.'  
"I think it must be from China." Said John.  
"Oh really? I though it was from Canada." I said, elbowing him in the arm. He chuckled, and elbowed me back.  
We approached the ticket booth.  
"I've got two reserved for tonight." Said John to the young man at the booth.  
"Name?"  
"Err...Holmes."  
"I've actually got three reserved under that name."  
"I only booked two, there must be some mistake." Said John, as the man handed him the tickets.  
"And then I phoned back and booked one for me aswell." I heard a voice behind me say.  
I turned around and there he was, Sherlock Holmes.  
"Hello Emily, pleasure to see you again."  
"Yes, I-I guess it is."  
He smiled,well at least I think it was a smile, then turned and walked off. John grabbed my arm, and dragged me along as we followed Sherlock into the theatre.

The scene before us was like none I had seen before. There was a circle of small candles in the middle of the room. In the centre of the circle is some sort of large object covered by a cloth. The candles sent shadows across the room as they danced with the cool draft in the air. I turned and looked at Sherlock. The flickering light had made his face look even more angular, even more intimidating. I could hear him and John bickering under their breaths.  
"You couldn't let me have one night off?" Whispered John.

"The Yellow Dragon Circus! One day they're in London. It fits. The Tong sent an assassin to England..."

"Dressed up as a tight rope walker! Come on, Sherlock. Behave!"  
"A killer who can climb! Who can shin up a rope! Where else would you find that level of dexterity? Exit visas are scarce in China. They'd need some reason to get out of the country, wouldn't they? I just need to have a little look round the place..."

They were interrupted by the murmur of the crowd as a woman entered the circle. Her traditional robes were ornamented with beads, and her gold headdress held precious gems that glittered in the light.  
She lifted the cloth of the object in the centre. It was some sort of mechanism that looked like a giant crossbow. It was menacing.  
She took a feather from her headdress, and placed it in a bowl attached to the crossbow. Suddenly, a metal dart shot out of the mechanism and hit the target parallel to it.

A collective gasp emanated from the audience.  
As soon as the crowds anxiousness died down, they brought out a man. He was dressed as a Chinese warrior. He stood against the target, and two other men attached him to it with chains and padlocks.  
"Oh dear lord." Whispered John.  
"Ancient Chinese escapology act. The crossbow is on a delicate spring. The warrior has to escape his bonds before it fires." Said Sherlock, all matter-of-factly.  
"Well, that sounds like ideal entertainment for a Friday night."  
I chuckled at John's joke.  
I saw Sherlock's gaze tilt upwards, I followed it with my own. There was a sand bag dangling from the ceiling.  
"They split the sandbag so the sand pours out. The weight is gradually lowered on to the bowl. Classic Chinese circus act." Said Sherlock.  
"I would have been happy with a bit of juggling and a couple of clowns."  
"Not me." I said.  
They both turned to me, lookes of disbelief flickering on their faces like the candles in the room.  
"I hate clowns."  
Sherlock smirked.  
"Coulrophobia. The lowest common denominator of irrational fear in human beings."  
"Sherlock! Behave!" Hissed John. I could feel him tense beside me.  
"It's quite alright John. It's just an irrational fear, no need to get rattled by the truth." I said sarcasticly.  
His tense form began to relax, but then re-tensed as the Chinese woman punctured a hole in the sand bag. The weight began to lower.  
The chained man began to twist and turn, trying to free himself from his bonds. He was crying out, and yelling in frustration. The weight had almost reached the bowl. I didn't like where this was heading.  
It was only seconds before the weight had dropped into the bowl that the warrior escaped his bonds. He narrowly missed the arrow. I turned to the two me in awe, but saw only John standing beside me. I sent him a quizzical look.  
"Don't ask." He sighed.  
The show carried on. The next act was an acrobat, swinging around on long tendrils of red silk.  
I remembered John and Sherlock's conversation from earlier. Sherlock had said they were looking for someone who could climb, who could shin up a rope. I bet this was who they were looking for.  
"John," I turned to him, "I think this might be who Sherlock is looking for."  
"Yes, well, if he hadn't run off we would've been able to tell him." John was visibly tense.  
As he said that, the curtains at the back of the auditorium parted, and out stumbled two figures. They were engaged in hand to hand combat, and one of them was wielding a sword. I had a feeling this was not part of the show.  
"That's Sherlock!" Yelled John.  
He ran over to the two fighters and tried to help , but it resulted in him being flung to the side. The man with the sword had the upper hand, and with every swipe he took,he was getting closer and closer to Sherlock. I looked around and spotted a long metal pipe laying on the ground. I grabbed it and ran over. I lifted it up high, and brought it down on the swordsman's head. He crumpled to the floor, dropping his sword.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hello lovelies! This is a long one, lots of dialogue. It is still following the story line of Sherlock. It's actually quite fun writing about Sherlock and John, so I will definitely keep following the plot line!
> 
> All of the script used from the show belongs to it's respective owners/authors. I do not own Sherlock or the script/plot line.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!
> 
> DFTBA xx

Emily's POV

We went straight from the theatre to the police station. Sherlock sauntered in, receiving disdainful glare from a number of detectives. We walked into an office labeled DIMMOCK.  
"I trust you received my text." Said Sherlock abruptly, startling a man who had his back to us.  
"Oh, it's you." Said the man, turning around and taking a seat at his desk  
"The Chinese circus, the gang. It has to be dealt with."  
"I sent a couple of cars. The old music hall is completely deserted."  
"Look... I saw the mark at the theatre. The tattoo we saw on the bodies. The mark of the Tong."  
Bodies? Someone had been killed? I started to feel like leaving them to their business. I looked at John.  
"They were part of a smuggling operation. One of them stole something - when he was in China. Something valuable." He said.  
"These circus performers - they were gang members, sent here to get it back." Said Sherlock. At this, Dimmock sat up a little higher in his chair.  
"Get what back?"  
"We don't know."  
" You don't know?"  
Dimmock leans back and sighs.  
"Mr. Holmes - I've done everything you asked. Lestrade - he seems to think your advice is worth something... I gave the order for a raid. Please tell me I'll have something to show for it. Other than a massive bill for overtime."

We went back to 221B Baker Street.  
"They'll be back in China by tomorrow." Sighed John, taking a seat.  
"They won't leave. Not without finding what they came for. We need to find a hideout - a rendezvous."  
Sherlock lifted his gaze to the wall around the fireplace. It was covered with photographs of symbols.  
"Somewhere in this message - it must tell us."  
He sat down at a desk, and started riffling through papers and books. John went to the kitchen to fetch some snacks. As time went on, I could see Sherlock become even more frustrated.  
"May I?" I asked, walking over and reaching my hand out to a paper covered with symbols. He sent me an icy look, but reluctantly handed over the paper. He got up and started to pace around the room.  
"It has to be here. It must tell us something." He whined.  
"These squiggles, they're numbers written in Chinese dialect right?"  
Sherlock turned and sent me a quizzical look.  
"How did you know."  
"A friend of mine, she was involved in some things."  
"Do you know anything else?"  
"Well, the numbers represent words, but you probably already knew that. The key to deciphering it is finding what book, or piece of literature it corresponds with. You seem on the right track though."  
"What do you mean by that? I haven't got the slightest idea to what book it could be."  
"Well two words have already been translated."  
"What?" He said, rushing over and grabbing papers out of my hands. He looks over them, and I can see his eyes widen.  
"JOHN! John, look. Soo Lin - at the museum- she started to translate the code for us. We didn't't see it."  
"Well what does it say?" Asked John, as he entered the room with a tray of nibbles.  
"Nine...Mill?"  
"Maybe it means million."  
"Nine million quid...For what? We need the rest of the phrase."  
Sherlock rushes to the door.  
"Where you going?"  
"To the Museum. The Restoration Office - we must have been staring at it."  
" What?"  
"The book, John - the book. The key to cracking the cipher! Soo Lin used it to do this. Whilst you and I were running round the galleries she started to translate the code. That book is in her office!"  
He turns around, and bolts out of the door.  
"You want takeaway?" Asks John.  
"Yes. I'm bloody starving."  
He calls, and orders.  
"Sorry about all this. I didn't really want you to get all wrapped up in Sherlock and his...well...his line of work."  
"So this is what you two do for a living? Solve crimes. Decipher puzzles. Saving people."  
"He's a consulting detective. Don't ask, he made it up himself."  
"Well I think it's pretty amazing."  
John faces brightens as I say this.  
"Really?"  
"Yeah. Saving people, deciphering things, the investigative business. It all seems very exciting."  
"Sometimes too exciting."  
"It must be nice, living with someone like him."  
"I wouldn't say that. Well I would, but not for everything. He gets bored, and sometimes acts like a bloody child. People think he's a psychopath."  
"Well that's just people. Not you, not me."  
He smiles, I smile back. It's nice to have a conversation with someone. John seems real, not portraying an image, not trying to be someone he's not. He's just John, and it's amazing.  
DING  
"Must be the take away." I say.  
"That was fast. Ill pop down a get it"  
"You want me to lay the table?"  
We both look down. Sherlock's various papers covered the surface. An assortment of items varying from jars of insects to things that looked like human eyes were scattered amidst the papers.  
"Eat off trays?" Suggest John.  
"Yep."  
He ran down stairs, and I got trays out of the cupboard. I heard him come back up the stairs.  
"I hope these ones are alright. They were the only ones I could find."  
I turned around, expecting to see John, but instead I saw a tall figure dressed in a black hoodie.  
"JOHN!" I yelled as the figure approached me.  
I dived to the side to try and avoid him, but he was quick. He caught me around the waist and pulled me down. I tried to get back up, but he held me down. He raised a gun above his head, and brought it down on my temple.  
Everything went black.

I opened my eyes, and took in the surroundings. We were in a cavernous tunnel, illuminated by a circle of candles. The ceiling dripped water down onto the ground where a pair of metal groves sat. Old tram tracks. I turned my head and saw John, he to was beginning to recover from his unconsciousness. A large gash in his head was bleeding.  
Three other people were present - three members of the Black Lotus. Two men and a woman.  
The woman stood in the middle, dressed in a a long black coat and dark glasses. She was the woman from the circus.  
She was flanked by two thugs in black suits.  
There is a short, squat, muscular one. And on the other side, a tall and wiry mam with jagged limbs and pointed features - the man who came to John's flat.  
"A book is like a magic garden, carried in your pocket." Says the woman  
John looks quizzical.  
"Chinese proverb, Mr.. Holmes."  
"I'm not actually...I'm not Sherlock Holmes."  
"Forgive me if I do not take your word for it." She says, smiling.

She walks over to him - softly, slowly - and yanks his wallet out of his pocket.  
She opens it and rifles around inside, and produces a bank card.  
"Debit card. Name of S. Holmes."  
"Ah. That's not actually mine. He leant that to me..."  
She rifles around again, and produces a cheque.  
"And a cheque for five thousand pounds. Made out in the name of Mr.. Sherlock Holmes."  
"He asked me to look after that for him..." Says John, weakly.  
She produces an envelope. The same one we received from the ticket booth attendant.  
"Tickets. From the theatre. Collected by you. Name of Holmes."  
"Yes. OK. I realize how this looks, but honestly, I'm not..."  
"Oh but you are."  
What did she want with Sherlock. I began to regret staying with John after the police department. No, I take that back. I don't regret it. He would be alone right now, with this lady making false accusations. I couldn't imagine how he would feel if he was alone.  
"Your friend John writes a fascinating blog. I read it every day. I've made an intricate study of you. But you, you know nothing about your most devoted fan."  
Fan? This is crazy, this lady is crazy. I began to rub my wrist around, trying to free myself of my bonds. The kerchief around my mouth had started to chafe. I would have bruises tomorrow.  
The woman raises a gun to John's temple.

"Mmmhhhmmm!" I try to say something, anything to stop her.  
"Three times we've tried to kill you and your companion: the flat in Chinatown; the museum; tonight at the theatre. What does it tell you when an assassin cannot shoot straight?"  
She pulls the trigger.  
"Mmmmmhmmmm!"  
But nothing happened. It was only a bluff.  
"It tells you they're not really trying. Blank bullets. Fired at the museum. And the fight in Soo Lin's flat - your companion was allowed to go free. If we wanted to kill you Mr. Holmes we'd have done it by now. We just wanted to make you inquisitive. Nothing like firing a gun at someone to make them think they're on the trail of something special. We haven't found what we seek, but no matter. Now we have our own sniffer dog. Sherlock Holmes."  
This was dangerous. With every sentence she would wave the gun around like it was nothing. I could see John's form getting more and more tense. He looked over at me, our eyes locked. They were worried, but they wanted me to stay calm. They were saying everything would be ok.

"Do you have it?" The woman asked.  
"What? Have...what?"  
"The treasure."  
"I...I don't have any treasure."  
"I would prefer to make certain."  
She shines a torch into the gloom. The tunnel we were in stretched on and on. I couldn't see the end of it, only blackness. There was familiar shape in the foreground, a cloth draped over a frame.  
The shorter man pulled away the cloth, underneath is the Chinese ballista. The large crossbow like mechanism from the circus.  
"Everything in the west has its price. So, the price for her life is information.  
The tall man grabbed my chair and dragged me over to the line of fire. Even though the kerchief covering my mouth prevented me from shrieking, the legs of the chair screamed enough under the strain to make up for it.  
"Where's the hairpin?" Said the woman, bending down so she was face to face with John. "The emperess pin valued at nine million sterling. We already had a buyer in the west. And then one of our people was greedy. He took it. Brought it back to London. And you, Mr.. Holmes, you have been searching..."  
"Please...please you have to believe me." He was pleading to the woman, but his eyes were locked with mine. His form slumped against the chair, defeated. I shot him a look, trying to say I was alright, but it hadn't worked. I was shaking against my bonds.  
"Please.. I don't have what you are looking for."  
The woman waves him off.  
"I need a volunteer from the audience." She says with mock theatricality.  
"Please..."  
She points towards me.  
"Mmmmmhmm!"  
"Ah, thank you lady. Yes, I think you'll do very nicely."  
The woman slashes the sandbag dangling from the ceiling. Sand pours out on to the ground.

I struggle against my bonds as the sandbag rapidly ascends, spiraling closer and closer to the ceiling, the weight dropping closer and closer to the bowl of the ballista.  
"Ladies and gentleman, from the distant moonlit shores of NW1 we present, for your pleasure, Sherlock Holmes' pretty companion in a death-defying act."  
"Please..." Whispered John, it was almost inaudible, "Please...I'm not Holmes."  
"I DON'T BELIEVE YOU!" Yells the woman.  
"You should, you know." Says a voice in the dark. It was warm, and flowing like water, echoing in the expanse of the tunnel.  
The woman raises her gun.  
"That's a semi-automatic. You fire it - the bullet will travel at a thousand meters per second." He says.  
"Well?"  
"Well, these walls have a radius of curvature of nearly four meters. If you miss then the bullet will ricochet," as Sherlock says this I can see the woman falter slightly, "Who knows where? You could hit anyone. The bullet could bounce around the tunnel and hit you."  
"I have no intention of missing."  
"Still. I'd take those glasses off. Can't shoot straight in the dark..."

He lashed out and kicked over a burning brazier, the most predominant source of light. The flames are immediately extinguished.  
Sherlock dives into the shadows behind the oil drum. The woman fires the gun.  
The bullet ricochets around the tunnel, zooming by my head, narrowly missing John.  
It was very dark now, just a meager glow from the candles enabled me to make out shadows of figures darting around. I struggled against my bonds, but they wouldn't budge.  
I could see the tall man run at Sherlock in the shadows. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a long bundle of silk tendrils and roped them around Sherlock's neck with expert precision.  
He drags Sherlock up towards him, and spins more and more silk around him, tugging it tight. He was like a spider spinning a web around his prey, choking him.

I writhed in the bonds, wanting to help Sherlock, but my attempts were futile. I could feel blood being drawn from the coarse ropes. The weight has almost fallen; the ballista was about to fire. I heard a crash that made me jump. I looked over to the origin of the noise, and saw John. He had deliberately toppled his chair over and, using scrabbling motions, dragged himself towards the loaded ballista.  
The silk ropes around Sherlocks neck were being squeezed tighter and tighter.  
"Mmmmmmhmmmmm!" I wanted to tell John to help Sherlock, to prevent him from being asphyxiated.  
But John couldn't hear my strangled pleas, and he continued his path to the ballista. I looked up. The sandbag was almost at the roof, the weight was almost in the bowl.  
John reached the ballista and gave it a hard kick. It toppled over, and shot the dart into the shadows  
I followed the trajectory. I cringed as it narrowly missed Sherlock, and hit the spider-like man in the chest. His body crumpled to the floor, releasing Sherlock from it's silk web.

Sherlock rushed over to me, and untied the ropes. His hands danced elegantly as they undid the knots around my wrists, ankles, and finally the one of the kerchief.  
I stood up and attempted to walk over to John to release him from his bonds, but my knees buckled underneath me. Just before I hit the ground I felt Sherlock's hands around me, pulling up into his arms.  
"You had best sit tight." He said, placing me gently to the ground, then walking over to John and releasing him from his bonds.  
"I don't suppose you still want that takeaway?" Asks John, sheepishly, looking up at me with sorrowful eyes.  
I laugh, but I can feel tears brimming in my eye lids.

Moriarty's POV

I stared at my computer. The image of a small Chinese woman flickered across the screen.  
"Without you - without your assistance - we would not have found passage into London. You have my thanks." Said the woman.  
I typed my reply.  
'M_: GRATITUDE IS MEANINGLESS.'  
'M_: IT IS ONLY THE EXPECTATION OF FURTHER FAVOURS'.  
"We did not anticipate... we did not know this man would come. This Sherlock Holmes. And now you're safety is compromised." She feigned a worried look, I could see right through her.  
'M_: THEY CANNOT TRACE THIS BACK TO ME.'  
"I will not reveal your identity..."

I knew she wouldn't. After all the strings I had pulled for her and her troupe. Getting them out of China had been the hard part, but supplying them with resources for life here was simple, almost elementary. Before tonight, I had planned to let her keep her life, and use her in the future. Blackmail was such a powerful thing. But that had all changed when I saw Emily, my kitten, bound and gagged. What had she been doing with Dr. Watson? Why does she always have to get herself in trouble. I had wanted to save her, to untie her and bring her home. To hold her in my arms until her tears had run dry. To stroke her hair until her body stopped shaking. I couldn't though. I couldn't ruin the game, not so early on. It had ripped me apart though, watching her struggling in her bonds, wrists being rubbed raw. I almost had to tie myself down to keep me from running to her, saving her.

"Sir, believe me, I will not reveal your identity."  
'M_: I AM CERTAIN'

I watched the screen. A small red dot danced across the wall behind her, then finally made it's way to her forehead.  
In a slipt second the screen had turned red. I closed my laptop and let out a sigh. The events I had seen earlier played out in my head.  
After she had been freed, she had gotten up and tried to walk over to John. Most likely wanting to untie him. She was good, kind, thinking of others before herself. She had almost made it over to him, but her knees had buckled. Then Sherlock grabbed her to prevent her from falling. This scene repeated over and over again. His hands around her waist, her body in his arms. My insides twisted, and my mouth became bitter. He was not allowed to touch her, no one was allowed to touch her. Only me.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hello lovelies! Thank you for sticking around even though I haven't been posting. My mind has been darting all over the place, writing bits that will be later on in the story and not focusing on bits that should written right now! Next chapter will be longer once I get the time to write it. This one is a bit of a filler.
> 
> DFTBA xx

Emily's POV

John called me a cab so I could get home. He and Sherlock still had some things to clear up, and as exciting as it was working with them, I had had too much excitement that night. I would've rather walked. Walking clears my head, helps me calm down. I definitely needed to calm down. My hands were shaking, and my head felt as if it were full of lead.

Sitting in the cab, I could feel myself on the verge of breaking down. It was too stuffy, and the seatbelt felt overly constricting.  
"You can let me out here." I said abruptly to the driver.  
"Miss, you are about 2 miles away from your destination. Mr. Holmes said not to let you out until you got home." He said.  
God, seriously?  
"Well, Mr. Holmes doesn't have to know about this." I said, handing him a twenty pound note.  
"Yes Miss, is here alright?" He asked, pulling over the the curb.  
"Yes, thank you."  
I gave him the rest of the fare, and began walking. I could feel the fresh air already working it's magic. My lungs devoured every breath like it was my last.  
The night air was crisp. It nibbled my cheeks and my ears as I walked down the street. The walk wasn't far. Only an hour or so. The wind started to pick up, and I turned up my coat collar, glad I had decided to wear my trench. The street lamps glowed in the dark, illuminating the street. Shadows cast by buildings danced in the moonlight as dark clouds in the sky loomed over me.  
Drop  
Drop  
Drop  
I could feel rain droplets begin to trickle out of the gloomy clouds.  
"Shit!" I said outloud. Maybe I should've just stayed in the cab. I began to pick up my pace, the wind decided to pick up it's pace as well. My hair whipped around my face as I darted down the dark sidewalk, avoiding cracks and puddles along the way. The rain had begun to pour down onto the street. I dashed under a building for temporary cover. I looked around,  
Lewisham Way  
Only about thirty minutes walking, so ten-ish running. Just as I was about to bolt out into the downpour, a car came speeding down the road. It came to a halt right in front of me, sending a small wave of water across the sidewalk. The door opened.  
"Get in." Instructed a voice, vaguely familiar. The splashing of the rain made it hard to distinguish whose voice it was.  
"For God's sake Em, don't just stand there. Get in the damn car."  
"Jim?"  
"Yes! Now get in the bloody car!"  
"But I'm all wet, I'll ruin the seats."  
"I don't care about the seats. Now get IN!" His voice was stern, there was no arguing with him. I figured if I kept walking, he would come out and drag me into the car himself. I climbed gently in, trying to contain the water dripping from my drenched clothes. As I was about to reach for the seatbelt, I felt him wrap a blanket around my shaking frame. I mumbled a quick thanks as he pulled me into his body, wrapping the blanket even tighter around me.  
"Drive." He said to the man at the wheel. The car lurched forwards.  
I twisted my head around to get a good look at his face. His mouth was set in a harsh line. Dark brown eyes bore into mine own. I gave him a small smile with hopes he would ease up, but it just made him furrow his brow and purse his lips.  
We spent the car ride in silence. The pitter-patter of rain and the hum of the radiator eased my nerves. I could feel my eyelids begin to droop.

 

Moriarty's POV

She fell asleep in his arms. Small, fragile, shivering in her drenched clothing. He could feel the water begin to soak through the heavy blanket he had draped around her, and as time went by he was sure both he and the blanket would be wet once they reached his house.  
It had angered him immensely, seeing her with Sherlock. He wasn't sure if he was angry for her being with Sherlock, or Sherlock being with her. Either way he was distraught. He couldn't let her get in the way of his plans for Sherlock, but he couldn't let her go.

An hour later the car pulled into the long driveway leading up to his house. He had many around London. A couple flats here and there, a hotel room reserved full time, and a house in the countryside outside London. He had flats throughout the country, and throughout the world. There was no telling who would need something fixed.

He had heard the same sentence many different times from many different people, from many different places.  
'Dear Jim, will you please fix it for me.'  
Fixing peoples messes. That's what he was good at. Knowing what people didn't, doing what people couldn't. Fixing things that were broken, breaking things beyond fixing. There was no one like him. Well maybe one. One man. The arrogant hero that is always running around, saving people. The one that plays on the side of the angels. He will burn the heart out of him. He will burn the soul out of him. He will burn every single aspect of him until he is reduced to a shameful nothingness. Of course he would have to be careful. Emily seemed to be growing close to him, he had his hands around her waist for God's sake. And then there is the doctor, Watson. He was close to Sherlock. He was a friend. Sherlock Holmes with a friend! That notion was almost unbelievable. What was even more unbelievable was that he almost has two friends, one of which he would not be able to hurt. He couldn't hurt her, he couldn't even bring himself to think of it. He remembered how fragile her body was, how easily she scared. The thought of him, or anyone hurting her made his mouth bitter. Her being around Sherlock will be very dangerous, very soon. He would have to do something about that.


	16. Chapter 16

Moriarty's POV

The car pulled up to the front of the house. It was dark, and the driveway was splattered with rain drops. He climbed out of the car, holding Emily in his arms with ease. The driver shadowed behind him, only passing him when they came to the door. As he opened the door Jim turned to him,  
"You never saw her. She was never here." He said grimly  
"Yes sir." Said the driver, giving a curt nod  
Jim walked inside, stepping easily over the threshold.  
The house smelt unused, untouched by anyone. He had been here many times before, but that was several years ago. A cleaning crew had been in and out each month, making sure everything was still sanitary. He couldn't bring himself to walk into a place covered with dust and microbes, let alone bring Emily in with him. Once he was sure the house was clean enough for his standards, he ventured up three staircases, down two hallways, past a door, and into the master bedroom. Flicking on the lights, he took in the room.

The walls were painted a deep ash grey. There was a four poster bed centered on the far wall, in between two large paintings framed with dark cherry wood. These paintings were the favourites in his collection. Two scenes of ballet rehearsals painted brilliantly with such colour, and emotion in the brush stokes. Edgar Degas was an artistic genius.

The rest of the bedroom held all the basic necessities. A desk sat in the corner, plundered with books and notes. The bookshelf beside it was also brimming with literature. A dresser sat opposite the desk, on it was a single photograph of Moriarty and his brother. Jim forgot how personal this house was. So many of his favourite things had lined the walls, had been scattered over the desktop, had occupied space on his dresser. Only he knew what secrets these things held. One would not be able to decipher any message hidden in his belongings unless they entered his skull and rooted around with a pair of tweezers, extracting information buried so deep he had sometimes forgotten about it. Of course there were no secret codes or ciphers hidden in his books and his paintings, only memories. Memories that could be dangerous had the wrong person discover them.

He was broken out of the wave of nostalgia when Emily began to stir in his arms. Jim looked down at her face and saw that her eyelids were flickering. He quickly laid her down on the bed, not wanting to disturb her slumber.  
"Sleep darling, you deserve a rest."  
"Jim?" He heard her mumbled, voice groggy.  
"I'm here, I'm not going anywhere." He said, brushing stray hairs away from her face. His fingers continued their trail down to her jaw, where he cupped her chin and placed a chaste kiss on her forehead. He heard her sigh at the contact and it made his heart brim with victory. Even in her barely conscious state, her body still reacted with pleasure at his every touch. He had complete control over her, and the thought of this excited him.

He went back downstairs, and made his way to the study. He opened the liquor cabinet in the corner of the room, and poured himself a scotch. He began to think about his current situation.  
His darling kitten has gone and gotten herself in a situation that will not be held lightly. She was now involved with Sherlock and his friend. Cutting of all contact with him would make her suspicious, but letting her go around and and help solve his cases would be dangerous. He couldn't put aside his plans, but he couldn't put her aside either. He would have to inaugurate some form of protection for her. He already had two of his men following her around, but there may be a need for more. He had never felt the need to protect one of his girls before. Well, it was most likely because they only stayed around for a few days, some not even an hour, before he got bored. There was something different with Emily though. She was warm, and intelligent, even snarky when she needed to be, but there was something dark inside of her. He could feel it. Something crept out ever so often. He could see it in her eyes, hear it in her voice. The Emily he knew was fragile, easily broken, and he was worried this darkness inside her would tear her apart. As he spent more time with her, she became more unpredictable. He thought he had figured her out, thought he could make her do as he pleased, but she would retaliate out of the blue. She had certain bite to her, which would be useful. She would be very useful, if only he could keep her safe. Safe from the dangers of being with Sherlock Holmes, and safe from the dangers of herself.


	17. Chapter 17

Moriarty's POV

I woke up the next morning to a light shaking on my shoulder. I opened my eyes slowly, and looked down. Emily's body was buried in my chest, my arms encasing her.

"Well good morning to you, darling." I spoke, squeezing her in tighter.

"Ugh, Jim get off." She replied, attempting to push me away, but failing miserably.

"Why? I thought you liked it when I held you in my arms."

"Yeah, well I also like it when I can breathe, plus I need to go to the bathroom." She muttered the last part, tilting her head downwards to avert eye contact. "Well, you gotta do what you gotta do." I released her from my grasp, and watched her climb off the bed. She scampered out to the hall, then returned as quick as she left.

"Where is it?" She looked sheepish.

"Down the hall to the left, first door on the right." As she went back into the hallway, I admired the view of her walking away. Sometime during the night she had managed to remove her jeans, so she was only wearing a shirt and pair of simple black panties. Her hips swayed gently as her feet carried her to the bathroom. I was half tempted to follow her, but that would only embarrass her further.

I rested my head back on the pillow and heaved out a sigh. I don't know what I'm doing with myself. God I don't even know what she's doing with herself.

I heard the bathroom door open, and her feet come padding back through the door. She scurried back across the length of the room, like a mouse, then climbed onto the bed and curled up beside me.

"Better?" I asked, laughing slightly. She buried her face in the crook of my arm, letting out a small groan. I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her even closer to my chest. She fit perfectly, like she was made just for me and only me.

"You're squishing me." I heard her mutter, the air of her lungs being crushed out by my arms.

"So what if I am?" I replied, quickly shifting my weight so I was now completely on top of her. She struggled under me, obviously trying to escape the hold I had her in, but her attempts were fruitless.

"The more you resist, the tighter I will hold you." She responded by wriggling around even more. I tightened my grip, stopping her from even moving a fraction of a centimeter.

"Hmmmph!" She let out a huff, admitting defeat, and relaxed under my weight. I gave her a small peck on the cheek as a reward for cooperating. Well, somewhat cooperating. We stayed like that for some time. Lying next to one another, not speaking, not even thinking. Just breathing in, breathing out, feeling one and other's presence. Every so often she would catch my gaze, then drop her eyes down shyly. She was adorable. A different kind of adorable than most people. Ordinary people were adorable, but she was something else.

She drifted back to sleep. Her breath came out in small sighs. She spoke inaudible words in her unconscious state. I yearned to hear what those things were, I wanted to know what her conscious mind didn't even know, hear what her own ears didn't. I rolled away from her body, leaving her shivering slightly from the loss of warmth, so I covered her frame with a down blanket. It was time to have a shower, it was time to start the day.

Emily's POV

I heard the water running. He must be in the shower. I thought of his body, under a crescendo of warm water, glistening and wet. That picture stayed in my mind for a good five minutes, then I eventually shook myself out of it. My cheeks reddened, obviously sensing my embarrassment for letting my mind wander that far. I rolled of the bed, and wandered around the expanse of halls until I found the stairs. After making my way through the maze of his house I finally found myself in the kitchen.

It was a large open space. Pristine white cabinets lined the walls, granite counter tops were covered with an array of appliances. An island sat in the middle of the expansive room. Around it sat four vintage looking chairs. The room was magnificent. I rifled through the cupboards and drawers, looking for fixings for a pot of coffee. As it turns out Jim had an old coffee maker that you put on the stove. It reminded me of my grandparents. I hadn't seen one of these since I stayed with them when I was younger.

The coffee had been brewed, and now I had to figure out what to do about food. I saw him saunter into the kitchen, hair tousled, eyes groggy. Even in this unkempt state he still looked like a god. His bare feet padded towards the fridge.

"There's coffee the pot, babe. I dont know where any of your pans are though so you might need to help me with that." As I said this, I heard him stop dead in his tracks.

"What did you just say?" He said. His voice didn't give away any emotion, so I turned around and searched his face, curious at the sudden outburst.

"I said there's coffee in the pot, and I need help finding pans."

"I heard you perfectly, darling, but I'm not entirely sure if you heard yourself." I was confused, what had I said that set him off?

"Did you want decaf or..." I was a loss for words.

"Babe. You called me babe. Do I look like a pig to you?" He said, smirking.

"Oh, gosh I hadn't noticed. Must of just slipped out." I said flatly. Guess he must of gotten up on the wrong side of the bed. His mood swings are driving me half mad.

"Make sure it doesn't happen again."

"God Jim, if you're so rattled about me calling you babe I guess I'm gonna have to skip out on all them other pet names Iv'e come up with. Shame." I said, with mock disappointment, "No more Jimmy, or Loviebear. Oh the calamity!"

His hands were clenched into fists so tight his knuckles were going pale. "Careful darling, or all the willpower in the world won't be able to stop me from having my way with you right here, right now." His eyes were dark orbs of obsidian. They bore into mine own with such intensity my insides warmed. I could feel heat pooling in my stomach, twisting and turning under his gaze. I walked over to him, closing the space between our bodies. I stood on my tiptoes and raised my lips so they were barely touching his ear,

"Then I hope the world doesn't have a single ounce of willpower." His hands found my waist, and pushed me forcefully against the counter. Fingernails dug into skin, teeth nipped lips. His breath was warm against my face, a warm breeze of mint and scotch. The feeling of his breath on my neck alone was probably enough to take me over the edge. His skin was damp from the shower he had taken. I could smell his aftershave seeping off his skin. I breathed him in, savoring every breath. He brought his lips to mine own, pushing my hair from my face and gathering into a tight fist at the back of my head. His body aligned with mine perfectly.

He was being forceful, much more forceful than ever before. Part of me wanted him to continue, to take me in this flurry of heated lust, but part of me wanted to know what he would do if I said stop... He lifted my legs around his body and propped me up on the counter, pressing himself against me. I should of kept my jeans on. The thin fabric of my underwear was not enough to hide how much I wanted him, and I could tell he knew.

"What do I have to do to make you mine?"

"I am yours. Always."

"Good." I dug my heels into his backside, wanting him to come closer. His lips dropped down to my mouth again, then continued on to my neck and collarbones.

"You should see how utterly inviting you look, pressed up against the wall like this with your legs around me. I want you like this, but I want you panting my name." My eyes flickered up to his, they were dark. He was looking at me so intently I had the urge to run, the urge to stay, the urge for him to take me right here right now. He dipped his tongue in the hollow between my collar bones. I was struggling to keep my mind clear. It was beginning to haze over with pleasure and anticipation. He wound his fingers tightly in my hair, pulling my head back so my neck was fully exposed to him. His lips danced over my bare skin, nipping and sucking. He bit down on the space at the base of my neck. I let out a hiss, trying to contain myself.

"Just let go, darling. You're safe with me." I tilted my head downwards, pulling against the tight grasp in my hair. My lips found his and we were surrounded by a flurry of low breaths and shaky sighs floating throughout the air. His hands found my shirt, and tore it off. I was now left with a feeble covering for my body. His hands moved towards my chest, and cupped my breasts. He slid his thumbs along the under line of my bra, and brought them to my back, undoing the clasp.

"This isn't fair." I breathed into his ear.

"What. Isn't. Fair?" He spoke between kisses.

"Well, I have pretty much nothing on, but you're fully dressed. I am just trying to do a service to mankind."

"Getting me undressed is a service to mankind?" His eyes were amused, "Well go ahead." He stepped back so I could have more room to move freely. My hands found the hem of his shirt, and tugged it off with one swift motion. As I moved on to his trousers I felt a vibration in his pocket. I looked up at him quizzically. "Shit." He muttered under his breath. He pulled away from me, and pulled his phone from his pocket.

"Talk." He said curtly, "Yes you do have to go through with it. I told you to do something and I expect you to do it. I have no common courtesy to offer you, I don't give hand outs when it wont benefit me." He stopped talking, obviously listening to the person at the other end. I felt oddly exposed, sitting there on the counter just in my underwear while he talked to some stranger on the phone. I crossed my arms over my chest and leant back against the wall. His eyes flickered over to me. He brought his hand up to my crossed arms and gently pulled them down, eyeing my chest. He looked up at me and flashed a quick wink and a cheeky smile.

"If you feel as if you are not qualified for the job, then why did you take it in the first place? I'm sorry but you're out of luck." He disconnected the call, then dialed another.

"Seb. It's Skarsgard, he needs some motivation." He threw his phone down onto the counter and sighed. "I think you had better get dressed, darling." He turned to me and placed a finger on my nose, gently flicking it. He helped me off the counter, then I went on a long walk back to the bedroom.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This one is set during the Great Game, so that means there will be quite a bit of dialogue following the plot of the show. I do not own anything (sadly), but I have made a few changes and incorporated a few new things into it.
> 
> I would like to take the time to personally thank all those who are reading, even if you don't follow or comment it means a great deal to me.
> 
> Thank you so very much

Moriarty's POV

It had been weeks since he brought her to his house in the countryside. Weeks since she had last talked to Sherlock Holmes or John Watson. Even weeks since he had seen her. He had been busy. Busy planning, busy getting everything in order for his game. His Great Game. He hadn't had time to talk to her, but he had done a lot of thinking. A lot of thinking about what he would do to her once he got her alone. He would have to get her alone soon, for his mind was beginning to turn erratic. She was like a drug to him, a terribly addictive drug, and he was an addict who would relapse no matter how much time he had spent away from her.

Today was a special day for him, it was the first day he would get Sherlock to come out and play, get Sherlock to know the stakes of this Great Game. Emily was going to be playing the game as well. He hadn't wanted it to come to this, but her relationship with Sherlock and his associate will most likely get her tangled up in it somehow. Sometimes he wished he could just drug her, and lock her away someplace secure until it was safe for her to go about with Sherlock, but that would be a very long time. From this day forth it will never be safe for her around Sherlock.

 

Emily's POV

I walked up the stairs alongside John to his and Sherlock's flat. It had been ages since I saw him and his curly haired flatmate. Sherlock had been away in Minsk, Belarus doing some work for a domestic homicide case, and John was, well, he was out and about with his new girlfriend, Sarah.  
Sarah was, well, she was Sarah. John was fond of her, and she seems like a nice girl so I couldn't really complain. Sherlock on the other hand, that was a completely different story. We had almost reached the landing when we heard shots ring out. John didn't hesitate as he bounded up the stairs and into the flat. I scurried in after him.  
"What the hell are you doing?" Asks John as enter the room. On the wall was a yellow face with multiple bullet holes scattered around its features.  
"Bored." Mutters Sherlock, sulking in a chair.  
I stared at him in disbelief. This is what he does when he is bored?  
"What?" I say, my voice wavering.  
"BORED!" Yells Sherlock, springing from the chair and taking his aim at the face again.  
John rushes over to me and covers my ears just before Sherlock fires.  
"BORED. BORED. BORED." He says, every word coming out of his mouth at the same time a round comes out of his pistol. He lowers the gun and stares at the face, smiling nonchalantly. John reaches around and takes the gun from Sherlock, then stashes it in a safe on the table.  
"Don't know what's got into the criminal classes. Good job I'm not one of them."  
"So you take it out on the wall?"  
"The wall had it coming." Sherlock turns and flops down on the couch, feet barely fitting on the end.  
"What about the Russian case?" Asks John taking off his coat.  
"Belarus. Open and shut domestic murder. Not worth my time."  
"Shame." Quipped John sarcastically. He turned and walked to the kitchen. I followed him in, and saw the mess on the kitchen table. Books, papers, phalanges, all strewn across the surface.  
"Want something to eat Em? I know I'm starving."  
"Sure, thanks."  
I began rifling threw the cupboards, trying to find something edible.  
"Oh f-." I heard John gasp. I turned and saw the fridge, and its contents.  
"Sherlock! There's a head." I yell rushing into the living room, seeing him in an unchanged position, "There is a bloody severed head in your refrigerator."  
His eyes flickered up to mine.  
"Just tea for me thanks." He said coolly  
John came running into the living room.  
"No, Sherlock, there is a head in the fridge."  
"Yes. Where else would I put it," He breaks his gaze with mine and looks at John, "You don't mind do you?"  
John threw his hands up in the air, and turned back towards the kitchen.  
"I got it from Bart's Morgue. I'm measuring the coagulation of saliva after death."  
I let out a scoff, which only made me receive a slight glare from Sherlock.  
"Well then," I start, "I read your blog John. The case about the taxi driver was good."  
"A Study in Pink. Nice." Mutters Sherlock.  
" Well, you know, pink lady, pink case, pink phone – there was a lot of pink. Did you like it?"  
While John spoke, Sherlock has picked up a magazine from the coffee table and flipped through it, not taking any interest.  
"Erm, no." He spoke, keeping his eye trained on the pages  
"Why not? I thought you'd be flattered."  
Sherlock lowered the magazine and glared at him  
"Flattered?" He scoffed, "Sherlock sees through everything and everyone in seconds. What's incredible, though, is how spectacularly ignorant he is about some things."  
I let out a laugh, which I then tried to disguise as a cough.  
"You alright Emily? Sounds like you have a cold coming on." Spoke Sherlock flatly.  
"Just fine thanks." I mutter, averting his gaze.  
"Now hang on a minute," said John, "I didn't mean that in a ..."  
"Oh, you meant "spectacularly ignorant" in a nice way," interrupted Sherlock, "Look, it doesn't matter to me who's Prime Minister ..."  
"I know ..." Said John quietly  
" ... or who's sleeping with who ..."  
"Whether the Earth goes round the Sun ..." Mutters John.  
"Not that again. It's not important."  
"Not impor…"  
"Wait," I spoke up, "That's primary school stuff. How can you not know that?"  
"Well, if I ever did, I've deleted it." He responded, rubbing the heels of his hands against his eyes.  
"Deleted it?" I looked at him in disbelief.

Sherlock swung his legs off the sofa, and onto the floor.  
"Listen," He pointed to his head with one finger, "This is my hard drive, and it only makes sense to put things in there that are useful ... really useful."  
He grimaces.  
"Ordinary people fill their heads with all kinds of rubbish, and that makes it hard to get at the stuff that matters. Do you see?"  
I bit my lip, trying to contain any oncoming quips. I could see that John was clearly frustrated, and having difficulties keeping his words to himself.  
"But it's the solar system!" He yelled, exasperated.  
"Oh, hell! What does that matter?!" Sherlock yells back, burying his head in his hands, "So we go round the Sun! If we went round the Moon, or round and round the garden like a teddy bear, it wouldn't make any difference. All that matters to me is the work. Without that, my brain rots."  
They continued on like this for a while, jabbing back and forth about what was important and what was not. Neither of them would win. They both sounded like lawyers, representing completely opposing forces. I just sat there, trying to contain my giggles. Eventually they came to a dead end. Sherlock turned away from us and curled into a ball on the sofa. I guess John couldn't take it anymore, because he abruptly got up and strode towards the door.  
"Where are you going?" Asked Sherlock, turning his head over his shoulder.

"Out. I need some air."  
As he left, we were graced with Mrs. Hudson's appearance.  
"Have you two had a little domestic?" She tuts, lightening the mood, "Hello Emily darling, you need something to eat?" She turns and heads towards the kitchen. Sherlock got up from his spot on the couch and walked towards the window.  
"Look at that, Mrs Hudson. Quiet, calm, peaceful. Isn't it hateful?" He drags a long breath.  
Mrs Hudson was in the process of unloading some groceries, so I walked over and helped her put them away in the cupboards.  
She chuckles slightly, and turns towards the fridge to put some produce away.  
"I wouldn't look in there Mrs—" I started, but it was too late. Mrs Hudson opened the fridge, and saw its contents. She let out a small breath.  
"Well. No matter I'm sure something'll turn up, Sherlock. A nice murder – that'll cheer you up."  
"Can't come too soon."  
Mrs Hudson turned to leave, but stopped short when she saw the wall.  
"Hey. What've you done to my bloody wall?!"  
Sherlock quirks a smile, and turned around to admire his handiwork.  
"I'm putting this on your rent, young man!"  
She stormed off down the stairs.  
Sherlock let out a small laugh,then turned and sat down on the sofa once again. I sat on the chair opposite, and looked at him. He was a wonder, a complete man of his own. I never met anyone remotely like him. He had me rattled, but also intrigued.

We sat in silence, contemplating our own thoughts. I was at ease with the lack of words being spoken. To be with someone, to spend time with them you don't always have to speak to enjoy their company.

"What you did when we first met, all the observing, deducing. Can you do that again?" I spoke, breaking the easy silence.  
He looked up at me. A coy smile crept upon his face, and his eyes lit up.  
"No one ever asks me to do that."  
"Well Lestrade does for the crime scenes, and murderers."  
"But this, this is different."  
"Not entirely. You're still figuring something out. You're still getting the truth."  
"I suppose so." He said, nodding, "Residue on your hand from when we met was from books, many of them. Such residue in such quantities suggests librarian."  
"Keep going." I said. I was eager to hear what he had to say, what he could figure out from just observing. I twisted my hair into a bun on top of my head, ready for what he would say next.  
"Your posture and the way you carry yourself says dancer. What type of dancer though?" He paused for a moment, "Your hair."  
"Is there something wrong with it?" Maybe I should've just left it down.  
"Quite the contrary. It's perfect. Perfect bun in the centre of your head. Either you are skilled with your fingers, or you've had practice doing it time and time again. Having a bun as neat and quick as that suggests ballerina. Your slender, yet muscular figure confirms it."  
"Wow."  
"There's more," he smiled, "I noticed that your left knee is slightly larger than your right. It's not from being swollen. Discoloration suggest most likely scar tissue from an injury while dancing. The way that you sit, not crossing your legs, suggests that it's too painful to move your knee like that, so quite a serious injury. An injury like that would most likely prevent you from dancing. So retired ballerina, current librarian. Am I right?"  
"Librarian and ballerina correct. Knee injury, well, kind of correct." As I said this his face falter slightly. He squeezed his eyes shut, and began to think.  
"To be a ballerina takes endurance and cross-training. Running injury?"  
"Not quite. I was prima ballerina in our troupe. Our upcoming performances were going to scouted by some associate form the Royal Ballet. Of course there is competition within the troupe, everyone wanted to be seen by the scouts. I beat out the girl that had been prima for the past five years." I paused for a moment. It had ben a while since I shared this story with anyone.  
"I guess she didn't take it to well," I continued, "so she got her boyfriend to take a baseball bat to my knee."  
Sherlock cringed.  
"People are atrocious. I cannot begin to comprehend how they can live inside those tiny minds of theirs, filled with rubbish. It must be so frustrating."  
"Hey, I have a tiny mind, and I sure as hell got rubbish in there. I don't appreciate you talking bad about it." I said, chuckling, trying to lighten the mood. I never really like talking about my failed ballet career. It was just another dream I couldn't accomplish.  
"But you know how to use your head. Some people just sit around, and as John would say, wait for the world to turn." I let outa light laugh, and he smiled up at me.

"I can see you thinking, all the time. Plus you actually like it when I get inside your head, everyone else tells me to piss off."  
I smiled at that.  
"Maybe I just like hearing about myself. Plus, at least I know how the solar system works, and who's sleeping with who." I joked.  
He laughed. We continued laughing until Ms Hudson came up asking what all the racket was about. The look of surprise on her face when she realized it was just Sherlock laughing sent me into another fit of giggles.  
By the we settled down my stomach was in stitches.  
We fell into another easy silence. I grabbed a book on the coffee table and began to read. "A Street Car Named Desire"  
"Classic." I whispered to myself.  
I could feel his eyes on me as I read, but I was at ease with his presence. The moment was pleasant.

And suddenly the moment was shattered into a millions shards, hot and smoky, as an explosion went off from outside. We were flung to the floor, and the windows burst, sending shards of glass and smoke into the apartment. I hadn't had enough time to react, I hadn't had enough time to find cover from the glass. Shards pierced my back as I cried out in pain, but it was soon dulled as I felt Sherlock move beside me, and place his body and arms around mine own to shield me from the remainder of the oncoming glass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To Crystal Woolf, who was asking if there will be a love triangle between Jim, Emily, and Sherlock: I am not to sure to be honest! I'm still trying to figure out what will happen in the next few chapters, not to mention how the story will turn out in the end! As you can see I'm not too great at planning...I do believe though that there will be some form of love triangle, but we will have to see how it all plays out.  
> Also thank you very much for your comment, it really inspired me to write!


	19. Chapter 19

Emily's POV

I saw it on the news.  
"WOMAN IN CAR STRAPPED TO BOMB AGAINST HER WILL"  
Well of course it was against her will, who in god's name would want to be strapped into a bomb, unless they were entirely self-destructive.  
John had called me the next morning, asking if I was alright. I was half tempted to ask him if he had been strapped to a bomb because he seemed quite a bit more rattled than I. I asked him if I could help with the case in anyway. It was quite lonely at home, Jim had all but up and left without giving any word of what he was up to. After a few minutes of prodding, he had finally agreed to let me come see him and Sherlock.

I walked into Scotland Yard, weaving my way through teens complaining to their mothers, drunken middle aged men swearing they were completely sober, and some very annoyed officers dealing with an extremely rowdy woman dressed in extremely revealing clothing. God, it was only 10 in the morning.  
I walked up to a female officer with wild, curly hair.  
"Um hi, do you know where I can find Sherlock Holmes and John Watson?"  
"Oh, you mean Freak and his little follower? They're in Lestrade's office. Might I ask who's inquiring their godforsaken presence."  
"Just a friend of theirs. They said I could come down."  
"Girl, Sherlock Holmes doesn't have any friends."  
I turned away from her and walked down a corridor, confused as to why she was being so rude. Sherlock is no freak.

I could hear Sherlock, John, and another man discussing inside an office labeled DETECTIVE INSPECTOR LESTRADE.  
"First test passed, it would seem. Here's the second." Said Sherlock  
I knocked on the open door, and inched my way inside the room, not wanting to disrupt anything.  
"Ahh good, you're here." Continued Sherlock, flashing me a quick glance, and a curt nod before turning towards a pink phone in his hands.  
"Wait, who is she?" Asked the other man in the room.  
"She is a colleague of mine. She helped us with our previous case, or don't you remember?"  
"Right, yes. Nice to meet you Miss, I am Detective Inspector Lestrade." He said holding out his hand, and adding an extra emphasis on the last words.  
"Emily Grace. The pleasure is mine."  
I heard Sherlock clear his throat, "Now that everyone knows each others name, lets get back to the case." He passed me the phone.  
"What am I looking for?"  
"Something John missed. Something Lestrade missed."  
"Umm," I regarded the phone. It had a picture of a car, door opened, license plate visible. It seemed like any other car, "It seems abandoned. You can track it right?" I asked, turning to the Detective Inspector.  
"Ill see if its been reported."  
As he turns to his phone, the woman from earlier entered the office.  
"Freak, it's for you." She said in a monotonous voice, holding out a phone.  
Again with the freak.  
"Whats her problem?" I whispered to John. He just shrugged his shoulders, as if nothing was out of sorts.

"Hello?" Said Sherlock to the caller on the other end while walking out of the office, "Who is this? Is this you again?"  
John and I craned our necks to get a glimpse of Sherlock's figure.  
"You've stolen another voice, I presume." He continued. John and I both had looks of utter confusion mixed with curiosity as to what was being said on the other end, and who exactly was saying it.  
"Who are you?...What's that noise?..." Sherlock pressed the heel of his hand to his eyes. Between him talking to the unknown caller, and Lestrade trying to identify the car from the picture, I was having a hard time wrapping my head around all the new information. Someone was definitely playing a game with Sherlock, a high stakes game.  
If only Jim wasn't being so elusive, maybe I could talk to him, get some insight. He seemed to know quite a bit about playing games.  
What was he doing anyways?

Sherlock got off the phone and returned to the office just in time to hear that Lestrade had identified the car.  
En route to the scene, Sherlock turned to me, his eyes boring into mine.  
"Listen Emily. Really listen. This has the possibility of getting very dangerous, very quickly. I want you to know what you are in for before you get entirely mixed up in it."  
"I understand." I replied, giving him a curt nod.  
"I don't want you to understand."  
I looked at him, perplexed.  
"What do you mean by that?"  
He shook his head, and looked down at his lap muttering something almost inaudible, "I just want you to be safe."


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Any of the original dialogue from the show belongs to its respective owners.
> 
> Thanks for reading
> 
> DFTBA xx

Emily's POV

 

Congratulations to Ian Monkford on his relocation to Columbia.

Raoul de Santos, the house-boy, botox.

Two cases

Two bombs

One untimely death

Whoever was playing this game with Sherlock meant business.

We were currently sitting in the living room 221B watching the news report.  
"The explosion, which ripped through several floors, killing twelve people is said to have been caused by a faulty gas main. A spokesman from the utilities company ..."  
"He certainly gets about." Said John, Drawing my attention away from the telly  
"Well, obviously I lost that round," Says Sherlock, " – although technically I did solve the case."

I reach across Sherlock and grab the remote control, muting the volume. I felt his frame tense slightly at the close contact.  
"He killed the old lady because she started to describe him."  
"Just once, he put himself in the firing line." Spoke Sherlock, relaxing back into his previous position.  
" What d'you mean?" Asked John.  
"Well, usually, he must stay above it all. He organizes these things but no-one ever has direct contact."  
"What ... like the Connie Prince murder – he-he arranged that? So people come to him wanting their crimes fixed up, like booking a holiday?"  
"What, so he's like a consulting criminal?" I say, to no one in particular.  
"Novel." Says Sherlock, his face full of admiration.  
John looks at him in disbelief, then turns his attention back to the telly. It has moved onto a new story.  
CONNIE PRINCE: MAN ARRESTED.  
I turn my head back to Sherlock, who is looking intently at the pink phone.  
" Anything on the Carl Powers case?" I ask, clearing my throat.  
"Nothing. All the living classmates check out spotless. No connection." Said Sherlock rather monotonously.  
"Maybe the killer was older then Carl."  
"The thought had occurred."  
"So why is he doing this then," said John, "Why is he playing this game with you? D'you think he wants to get caught?"

He didn't want to get caught. I knew that much. He was too careful to want to get caught: using other people's voices as his own, disguising the bombings as gas main breaks. He was playing a game, distracting himself.  
"I think he's bored," I say, receiving rather contrasting looks from the two men.  
"Yes, I think he wants to be distracted." Concludes Sherlock.  
John lets out a humorless laugh, eyes somber and frustrated. I stand up quickly and go to the kitchen, muttering something about tea. I could sense a heated conversation is underway.  
"There are lives at stake, Sherlock – actual human lives… Just - just so I know, do you care about that at all?"  
"Will caring about them help save them?" Sherlock spat out his words irritably.  
"Nope."  
"Then I'll continue not to make that mistake."  
"And you find that easy, do you?" Says John, his voice dejected.  
Yes, very. Is that news to you?"  
"No." says John, smiling bitterly, "Not at all."  
"I've disappointed you." Concludes Sherlock, after a slight pause in conversation.  
"That's good – that's a good deduction, yeah." There is a thick layer of sarcasm coating John's voice.  
"Don't make people into heroes, John. Heroes don't exist, and if they did, I wouldn't be one of them."  
Silence falls across the flat like a heavy blanket of snow. The lack of words being spoken was deafening.

Suddenly a pip resonates from the phone.  
"Excellent!" Yells Sherlock, causing both John and I to jump.  
Sherlock flashes John and image the phone, the brings it back into his line of sight. I rush out of the kitchen, and lean over his shoulder, taking in the photo on the phone.  
"View of the Thames. South Bank – somewhere between Southwark Bridge and Waterloo."  
"How did you know that?" Inquires Sherlock, turning his head to face me. I was suddenly aware of how close we were. His shoulder brushed my arm, and his face was nearly touching mine own.  
"Just...uh, common knowledge." I was struggling to find words. His eyes bore into mine with such intensity that it was beginning to get harder and harder to breathe. Somewhere across the room John cleared his throat, bringing me out of my trance.

"You two check the papers; I'll look online ..." Says Sherlock, sending me one last look before taking his phone out of his pocket  
I look up and see that John is standing with his hands braced on the back of his chair, his head lowered.  
Sherlock is so absorbed in his newly appointed task he is completely oblivious to any emotion toll this game is taking on John.  
I take a seat on the sofa, and John slumps down next to me. I give a quick nudge and a small smile, letting him know I somewhat understand what he is dealing with, letting him know there is one other normal person in the room with him. We start going through the piles of newspapers on the coffee table.  
"Archway suicide." Offers John.  
"Ten a penny." Says Sherlock, irritated.  
I shoot him a look before turning back to the newspapers.  
After a while I could tell we weren't going to find anything in the newspapers, and Sherlocks exasperated sighs indicated he wasn't having much luck online either.  
"Call Lestrade." I suggested, "Whatever is going on, it might not of made it to the papers yet."  
With a quiet Hmmmph, Sherlock punches in Lestrade's number.  
"It's me. Have you found anything on the South Bank between Waterloo Bridge and Southwark Bridge?"


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A portion of the dialogue belongs to the BBC and its respective owners

Emily's POV

The body we saw was bloated, the skin discolored and wrinkled, completely water-logged.  
"Hello boys, Ms. Grace, pleasure to see you all again." Lestrade tips his head towards us as he sees our small group approach.  
"Not under such circumstances as these, I hope." I say, flashing him a quick smile, knowing that it was only a show. I was genuinely glad to see him, but seeing the body along with him...Well I wasn't too glad about that.  
"D'you reckon this is connected, then? The bomber?"  
"Must be." Replies Sherlock.  
"Its odd though, he hasn't been in contact." I add.  
"But we must assume that some poor bugger's primed to explode, yeah?"  
"Yes." Concludes Sherlock.  
"Any ideas?" Inquires Lestrade, after taking a long look at the corpse.  
"Seven...so far." Said Sherlock, smirking.  
There he goes again, cocky as ever.

Sherlock walks towards the body, then proceeds to squat down in order to examine the man's face closely. He then looks at the ripped pocket on the shirt before working his way downwards until he reaches the man's feet. He pulls off one of the socks and examines the sole of the foot. He stood up, looking across to John and jerked his head down towards the body. A mute order to examine it. John stalked towards the corpse, and knelt down. He takes in the sight before his eyes.  
"He's dead about twenty-four hours – maybe a bit longer. Did he drown?" He asks Lestrade.  
"Apparently not. Not enough of the Thames in his lungs. Asphyxiated."  
"Yes, I'd agree."  
Meanwhile, I was just standing there observing the interactions happening around me, not wanting to focus too much on the body. Sherlock was milling about, typing madly into his phone, and two detectives bearing the name tags of 'Donovan' and 'Anderson' were doing a terrible job at disguising their flirting. Crime scene workers were collecting beach debris, and water samples, snapping photographs of the most mundane things. John noticed me standing around, and motioned me to come sit next to him. I guess he didn't realize I didn't want to get too close to the dead man.  
"There's quite a bit of bruising." He motions around the face and neck.  
"Yep." I say, turning my head away from the corpse, trying to hold in the rising feeling in my throat.  
"Fingertips." We hear Sherlock call somewhere in the distance.  
John continues his interpretation of the scene.  
"In his late thirties, I'd say. Not in the best condition."  
"He's been in the river a long while. The water's destroyed most of the data." Sherlock approaches us, quirking a grin, " And I'll tell you one thing: that lost Vermeer painting's a fake."  
"What?" We all say, a collective gasp resonating from the three of us who were still inspecting the body. I got a whiff of decaying flesh as I inhaled.  
"We need to identify the corpse. Find out about his friends and associates ..." Ignoring our astonished state  
"Wait-wait-wait-wait-wait." says Lestrade, "What painting? What are you – what are you on about?"  
"It's all over the place. Haven't you seen the posters? Dutch Old Master, supposed to have been destroyed centuries ago; now it's turned up. Worth thirty million pounds."  
"Okay. So what has that got to do with the stiff?"  
"Everything. Have you ever heard of the Golem?"  
"Golem?"  
"It's a horror story, isn't it? What are you saying?" Pipes John.  
"Jewish folk story. A gigantic man made of 's also the–"  
"Name of an assassin.." I finish his sentence for him, looking down at the body, "Real name Oskar Dzundza – one of the deadliest assassins in the world."  
"How on earth did you know that?" Asks Sherlock, not skipping a beat.  
"That is his trademark style." I say, pointing to the bruises that dotted the neck of the water-logged corpse.  
"And how did you know that?" He continued to prod, stepping closer, ever so slightly.  
"Common knowledge." I stumble over my answer, knowing its a lie. The Golem is not common knowledge, in fact to most he is not knowledge at all, more of a fairytale, or story to keep children in their beds at night. Jim told me about him a couple nights ago. Either this was a shit ton of coincidences, or something was up. Sherlock continued to send me a look. His eyes were casting scrutinizing gaze, and I found myself squirming under their shadow. John, sensing my discomfort, cleared his throat.  
"So this is a hit?"  
"Definitely." Say Sherlock, snapping back to the case, "The Golem squeezes the life out of his victims with his bare hands."  
"But what has this gotta do with that painting? I don't see ..." Lestrade rubs his hands over his face, letting out an exasperated sigh.  
"You do see – you just don't observe."  
"And what do you mean by that?" Quips Lestrade, obviously frustrated with the lack of information being delivered by Sherlock.  
"What do we know about this corpse? The killer's not left us with much – just the shirt and the trousers. They're pretty formal – maybe he was going out for the night, but the trousers are heavy-duty, polyester, nasty, same as the shirt – cheap. They're both too big for him, so some kind of standard-issue uniform. Dressed for work, then. What kind of work? There's a hook on his belt for a walkie-talkie."  
"Tube driver?" Guesses Lestrade. Sherlock send him a look that silences him. If looks could kill...  
"Security guard?" Says John.  
"More likely. That'll be borne out by his backside."  
"Backside?!" Lestrade was surprised by this one.  
"Flabby. You'd think that he'd led a sedentary life, yet the soles of his feet and the nascent varicose veins in his legs show otherwise. So, a lot of walking and a lot of sitting around. Security guard's looking good. And the watch helps, too. The alarm shows he did regular night shifts."  
"Why regular? Maybe he just set his alarm like that the night before he died."  
"No-no-no," Fusses Sherlock,obviously thinking we're all daft, "the buttons are stiff, hardly touched. He set his alarm like that a long time ago. His routine never varied. But there's something else. The killer must have been interrupted, otherwise he would have stripped the corpse completely. There was some kind of badge or insignia on the shirt front that he tore off, suggesting the dead man worked somewhere recognizable, some kind of institution."  
He produces a small ball of sodden paper from his trousers.  
"Found this inside his trouser pockets." He held them out."Sodden by the river but still recognizably–"  
"Tickets?" Interjects John.  
"Ticket stubs." Continued Sherlock, "He worked in a museum or gallery. Did a quick check – the Hickman Gallery has reported one of its attendants as missing."  
"Wonderful." Scoffs Lestrade.  
"Alex Woodbridge. Tonight they unveil the re-discovered masterpiece. Now why would anyone want to pay the Golem to suffocate a perfectly ordinary gallery attendant?"  
"The dead man knew something about it – something that would stop the owner getting paid thirty million pounds. The picture's a fake." I say, tying together all of the information and making a quick inference.  
"Fantastic." Says John, nodding to us both admiringly, giving me a quick pat on the back. I look over at Sherlock and saw his eyes zero-in on the friendly contact.  
"Meretricious." He spoke monotonously, flicking his gaze downwards.  
"And a Happy New Year!"  
John throws him a 'seriously?!' look. Lestrade grins sheepishly.  
"I'd better get my feelers out for this Golem character."  
"Pointless." interjects Sherlock, "You'll never find him. But I know a man who can."  
"Who?" Inquires Lestrade, obviously curious about Sherlock's ability to know someone who can locate the elusive assassin.  
"Me." Replies Sherlock grinning. He then proceeds to walk away, motioning for John and I to follow. I tag along a few steps behind, letting out a deep breath, and inhaling the seemingly fresh air. Even though it was coated with exhaust fumes and rubbish, it still beat the stench of a water logged corpse.

I left Sherlock and John to go to work. I was also quite glad to be away from all the action, I hadn't known what I was getting myself into when I offered to help with the case. Countless people have had their lives taken already, and I was guessing a few more were very close to the same demise. Besides, Sherlock would be able to work with John much more smoothly now that I wasn't tagging along for the ride.

Working at the library was calming, and the smell of books, even the ones coated with a thick layer of dust, made me feel at home. The beeping of checking in the books the stamping of the check in slips, no matter how mundane, was comforting. It was a much nicer sound than the traffic out on the street, or Sherlock fuming about people being stupid. Which, I have to admit was quite true. Him being himself, it must be hard trying to deal with everyday ordinary people.  
Beep Stamp Slide  
Beep Stamp Slide  
I had realized something as I was working. Something was definitely up with Jim. Only week before he had taking me out for a walk, and we passed by the River Thames. He even took a picture of me, a bloody picture by the bloody bridge where the bloody body turned up. And then there was the Golem and every thing Jim said about him.  
Beep Stamp Slide  
Beep Stamp Slide  
Beep Stamp Slide thud

Oops...  
I slid that book a little too far that time.  
Bending over to pick it up, I noticed it was a book about space. I brought it up to my desk and looked at the page it had landed on.  
'The Van Buren Supernova and other discoveries of the late 18 to early 19 hundreds.'  
The page had been marked with a thick brochure, obviously the reason as to why it had opened to that page. I flipped it over to see that it was for tonights exhibition on The Lost Vermeer.  
You have got to be kidding me.  
"Vermeer, one of the greatest artist from the Dutch Golden Age, has over thirty paintings attributed to him during his 43 years in the 16th century." I read aloud for no one to hear, the library was usually barren this time of day.

As I took the book and the brochure in, the distinctive smell of mint and scotch wafted out of the pages. Usually I would of been comforted by such a smell, but right now it just rattled me even more.


End file.
